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LIBRAEY 


Theological    Seminary, 

PRINCETON,    N.  J. 


SCC  #11,110 

Smith,  Adam,  1723-1790. 

Theory  of  moral  sentiments,  or.  An  essay 

towards  an  analysis  of  Ihe  principles  by  vvl 


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THE 

THEORY 

O    F 

MORAL  SENTIMENTS; 

O   R, 

AN        ESSAY 

TOWARDS 

An  Analysis  of  the  Principles  by  which  Men  naturally 

judge  concerning  the  Conduct  and  Character,  firft  of 

their  Neighbours,  and  afterwards  of  themselves. 

TO     WHICH      IS      ADDED, 

A     DISSERTATION 

ON      THE 

ORIGIN    of     LANGUAGES. 

7 

By    ADAM     S  M  I  T  H,  L.  L.  D.   F.  R.  S. 

Formerly  Profeflbr  of  Philofophy  in  the  Univerfity  of  Glafgow }   and  Auther 
of  the  Nature  and  Caufe  of  the  Wealth  of  Nations. 

THE    SIXTH    EDITION. 

DUBLIN: 

Printed  for  J.  Beatty  and  C.  Jackson,  No.  32,  Skinner«Row, 
M,DCC,LXXVII. 


CONTENTS. 


o 


PART    L 


F    the  Propriety  of  Action, 


SECTION    I. 


Of  thefenfeof  propriety  Page  i. 

Chap.  I.     Of  Sympathy  ibid. 

Chap.  II.     Of  the  Pleafure  of  mutual  Sympathy       9 

Chap.  III.  Of  the  manner  in  which  we  judge  of the 
propriety  or  impropriety  of  the  affeclions  of  other 
men,  by  their  concord  or  diffonance  with  our  own    14; 

Chap.  IV.     ^he  fame  fubj eel  continued  19 

Chap.  V.     Of  the  amiable  and  refpeclable  virtues    27 

SECTION    II. 

Of  the  degrees  of  the  different  pafiions   which  are 
confiftent  with  propriety  33 

Chap.  I.     Of  the  pajffions  which  take  their  origin  from 
ihe  body  3  4 

Chap.  II.     Of  thofe  pajftons  which  take  their  origin 
from  a  particular  turn  or  habit  of  the  imagination    4 1 

a  2  C  h  a  p. 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  III.     Of  the  unfocial  pajfions  Page  46 

Chap.  IV.     Of  the  f octal pajfwns  54. 

Ch  a  p .  V.     Of  the  felfijh  pajfions  5  8 

SECTION    III. 

Of  the  effects  of  profperity  and  adverfity  upon  the 
judgment  of  mankind  with  regard  to  the  propri- 
ety of  action ;  and  why  it  is  more  eafy  to  obtain 
their  approbation  in  the  one  ftate  than  in  the 
other  46 

Chap.  I.  That  though  our  fympathy  with  forrow 
is  generally  a  more  lively  fenfation  than  our  fympathy 
with  joy ,  it  commonly  falls  much  more  jhort  of  the 
violence  of  what  is  naturally  felt  by  the  perfon  prin- 
cipally concerned.  ibid. 

Chap.  II.  Of  the  origin  of  ambition,  and  of  the  dif- 
tintlion  of  ranks  74 

Chap.  III.     Of  the ftoical phihfophy  89 

PART     II. 

Of  Merit  and   Demerit;   or   of  the  objefts 
of  reward  and  punifhment. 

SECTION    I. 

Of  the  fenfe  of  merit  and  demerit  gy 

Chap.  I.  That  whatever  appears  to  be  the  proper  ob- 
jecl  oj  gratitude,  appears  to  deferve  reward -,  and 
that,  in  the  fame  manner,  whatever  appears  to  be  the 
-proper  objecl  of  refentment,  appears  to  deferve  pu* 
nijkment  98 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  II.  Of  the  proper  objecls  of  gratitude  and  re- 
fentment  Page  102 

Chap.  III.  That  where  there  is  no  approbation  of  the 
tonducl  of  the  per/on  who  confers  the  benefit l,  there  is 
little  fympathy  with  the  gratitude  of  him  who  re- 
ceives  it :  and  that,  on  the  contrary \  where  there  is 
no  difapprobation  of  the  motives  of  the  per/on  who 
does  the  mif chief  there  is  no  fort  of  fympathy  with 
the  refentment  of  him  who  fuffers  it  1 06 

Chap.  IV.  Recapitulation  of  the  foregoing  chap- 
ters  1 09 

Chap.  V.  The  analyfis  of  the  fenfe  of  merit  and 
demerit  1 1 2 


SECTION    II. 

Of  juftice  and  beneficence  i-^4- 

Chap.  I.     Comparif on  of  thofe  two  virtues  ibid. 

Chap.  II.     Of  the  fenfe  of  juftice,  of  remorfe,  mid  of 
the  confeioufnefs  of  merit  1 40 

Chap.  III.     Of  the  utility  of  this  conftitution  of  na- 
ture 133 

SECTION    III. 


Of  the  influence  of  fortune  upon  the  fentiments  of 
mankind,  with  regard  to  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
actions  147 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  caufes  of  this  influence  of  for- 
tune 148 


CONTENT    SV 

Chap.  II.     Of  the  extent  of  this  influence  of  fortune 

Page  154 

Chap.  III.  Of  the  final  caufe  of  this  irregularity  of 
fentiments  167 

PART      III, 

0  Of  the  foundation  of  our  judgments  con- 
cerning our  own  fentiments  and  conduct, 
and  of  the  fen(6  of  duty. 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  confcioufnefs  of  merited  praife  or 
blame  1 7  3 

Chap.  II.  In  what  manner  our  own  judgments  refer 
to  what  ought  to  he  the  judgments  of  others;  and 
of  the  origin  of  general  rules  180 

Chap.  III.  Of  the  influence  and  authority  of  the 
general  rules  of  morality,  and  that  they  are  juftly 
regarded  as  the  laws  of  the  Deity  207 

Chap.  IV.  /;/  what  cafes  the  fenfe  of  duty  ought  to  bs 
the  fole  principle  of  our  conducl ;  and  in  what  cafes 
it  ought  to  concur  with  other  motives  223 

PART      IV. 

Of  theeffedtof  utility  upon  the  fentiments  of 
approbation , 

Chap.  I.  Of  the  beauty  which  the  appearance  of 
Utility  beftows  upon  all  the  productions  of  art,  and  of  the 
■  '■':ip!/ive  influence  of  this  f pedes  of  beauty  %$7 


i*< 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  II.  Of  the  beauty  which  the  appearance  of 
utility  be/lows  upon  the  char  after  s  and  aclions  of  men  \ 
and  how  far  the  perception  of  this  beauty  may  be  re- 
garded as  one  of  the  original  principles  of  approbation 

Page  250 


PART      V. 

Of  the  influence  of  cuftom  and  fafhion 
upon  the  fentiments  of  moral  approbation 
and  difapprobation. 

Chap.  I.     Of  the  influence  of  cuftom  and  fafhion  upon 
our  notions  of  beauty  and  deformity.  261 

Chap.  II.     Of  the   influence  of  cuftom  and  fafhion 
upon  moral  fentiments  %         27 1 

PART       VI. 

Of  Syftems  of  Moral  Philofophy* 

SECTION     I. 

Of  the  queftions  which  ought  to  be  examined  in  a 
theory  of  moral  fentiments  29 1 

SECTION      II. 

Of  the  different  accounts  which  have  been  given  of 
the  nature  of  virtue,  294 

Ch  a  p .  I.   Of  thofe  fyftems  which  make  virtue  conjifi  in 
propriety   v  ?tq7 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  II.     Of  thofe  fyflems  which  make  virtue  con- 
fft  in  prudence  Page  3 1 1 

Chap.  III.     Of  thofe  fyflems  which  make  virtue  con- 
Jtji  in  benevolence  321 

C  h  a  p .  I V.     Of  licentious  fyftems  331 

SECTION    III. 

Of  the  different  fyflems  which  have  been  formed 
concerning  the  principle  of  approbation  34.5 

Chap.  I.  Of  thofe  fyflems  which  deduce  the  principle 
of  approbation  from  felf4ove  346 

Chap.  II.     Of   thofe  fyflems  which  make  reafon   the 

principle  of  approbation  351 

Chap.  III.     Of  thofe  fyflems  which  make  fentiment 

the  principle  of  approbation  356 

SECTION    IV. 

Of  the  manner  in  which  different  authors  have 
treated  of  the  practical  rules  of  morality  367 

Confiderations  concerning  the  fir  ft  formation  of  languages, 
and  the  different  genius  of  original  and  compound 
languages  389 


PART      I 

Of   the   PROPRIETY     ef   ACTION. 

Confifting    of    three  Sections. 

SECTION       I. 
Of     the    Sense    of    Propriety. 

CHAP.      1 

Of     S  Y  M  P  A   T  H  Y. 


H 


OW  felfifti  foever  man  may  be  fuppofed, 
there  are  evidently  fome  principles  in  his  nature, 
which  intereft  him  in  the  fortune  of  others,  and  ren- 
der their  happinefs  neceiTary  to  him,  though  he  de- 
rives nothing  from  it,  except  the  pleafure  of  feeing  it. 
Of  this  kind  is  pity  or  companion,  the  emotion  which 
we  feel  for  the  mifery  of  others,  when  we  either  fee 
it,  or  are  made  to  conceive  it  in  a  very  lively  manner. 
That  we  often  derive  forrow  from  the  forrow  t£ 
ethers,  is  a  matter  of  fad  too  obvious  to  require  any 
B  inftances 


2  0/ Propriety.  Tart  I. 

inftances  to  prove  it ;  for  this  fentiment,  like  all  the 
other  original  paflions  of  human  nature,  is  by  no 
means  confined  to  the  virtuous  and  humane,  though 
they  perhaps  may  feel  it  with  the  moil  exquifite  fen- 
Ability.  The  greateft  ruffian,  the  moft  hardened 
violator  of  the  laws  of  fociety,  is  not  altogether 
without  it. 

As  we  have  no  immediate  experience  of  what 
other  men  feel,  we  can  form  no  idea  of  the  manner 
in  which  they  are  afFe&ed,  but  by  conceiving  what 
we  ourfelves  mould  fell  in  the  like  fituation.  Though 
our  brother  is  upon  the  rack,  as  long  as  we  ourfelves 
are  at  our  eafe,  our  fenfes  will  never  inform  us  of 
what  he  furTers.  They  never  did  and  never  can  car- 
ry  us  beyond  our  own  perfon,  and  it  is  by  the  ima- 
gination only  that  we  can  form  any  conception  of 
what  are  his  fenfations.  Neither  can  that  faculty 
help  us  to  this  any  other  way,  than  by  reprefenting 
to  us  what  would  be  our  own,  if  we  were  in  his  cafe. 
It  is  the  imprerTions  of  our  own  fenfes  only,  not  thofe 
of  his,  which  our  imaginations  copy.  By  the  ima- 
gination we  place  ourfelves  in  his  fituation,  we  con- 
ceive ourfelves  enduring  all  the  fame  torments,  we 
enter  as  it  were  into  his  body  and  become  in  fome 
meafure  him,  and  thence  form  fome  idea  of  his  fenfa- 
tions and  even  feel  fomething  which,  though  weaker 
in  degree,  is  not  altogether  unlike  them.  His  agonies, 
when  they  are  thus  brought  home  to  ourfelves,  when 
we  have  thus-adopted  and  made  them  our  own,  be- 
gin at  laft  to  affect  us,  and  we  then  tremble  and 
fhudder  at  the  thought  of  what  he  feels.  For  as  to 
be  in  pain  or  diftrefs  of  any  kind  excites  the  moft 
exceflive  forrow,  fo  to  conceive  or  to  imagine  that 
we  are  in  it,  excites  fome  degree  of  the  fame  emo- 
tion, 


Sect,  i,  0/  Propriety.  3 

tion,  iri  proportion  to  the  vivacity  of  dulnefs  of  the 
conception. 

That  this  is  the  fource  of  our  fellow-feeling  for 
~themifery  of  others,  that  it  is  by  changing  places  in 
fancy  with  the  fufferer,  that  we  come  either  to  con- 
ceive or  to  be  affected  by  what  he  feels,  may  be  de- 
monflrated  by  many  obvious  obfervations,  if  it 
thould  not  be  thought  fufficiently  evident  of  itfelh 
When  we  fee  a  flroke  aimed  and  j  uft  ready  to  fall 
upon  the  leg  or  arm  of  another  perfon,  we  naturally 
ihrink  and  draw  back  our  own  leg  or  our  own  arm  ; 
and  when  it  does  fall,  we  feel  it  in  forne  meafure^ 
and  are  hurt  by  it  as  well  as  the  fufTerer.  The  mob9 
when  they  are  gazing  at  a  dancer  on  the  flack  rope, 
naturally  writhe  and  twifl  and  balance  their  own  bo- 
dies, as  they  fee  him  do,  and  as  they  feel  that  they 
themfelves  mud  do  if  in  his  fituation.  Perfons  of 
delicate  fibres  and  a  weak  conftitution  of  body, 
complain  that  in  looking  on  the  fores  and  ulcers  which 
are  expofed  by  beggars  in  the  ftreets,  they  are  apt 
to  feel  an  itching  or  uneafy  fenfation  in  the  corre- 
fpondent  part  of  their  own  bodies.  The  horror 
which  they  conceive  at  the  mifery  of  thofe  wretches 
affects  that  particular  part  in  themfelves  more  than 
any  other ;  becaufe  that  horror  arifes  from  conceive 
ing  what  they  themfelves  would  fuffer,  if  they  really 
were  the  wretches  whom  they  are  looking  upon,  and 
if  that  particular  part  in  themfelves  was  actually  af- 
fected in  the  fame  miferable  manner.  The  very 
force  of  this  conception  is  fufneient,  in  their  feeble 
frames,  to  produce  that  itching  or  uneafy  fenfation 
complained  of.  Men  of  the  moll  robuft  make,  ob- 
ferve  that  in  looking  upon  fore  eyes  they  often  feel  a 
very  fenfible  forenefs  in  their  own,  which  proceeds 
^  B2  from 


4  Of  Propriety.  !Part  !/ 

from  the' fame  reafon;  that  organ  being  in  the 
ftrongeft  man  more  delicate  than  any  other  part  or 
the  body  is  in  the  weaken:. 

Neither  is  it  thofe  circumftances  only,  which 
create  pain  or  forrow,  that  call  forth  our  fellow-feel- 
ing. Whatever  is  the  palfion  which  arifes  from  any 
object  in  the  perfon  principally  concerned,  an  ana- 
logous emotion  fprings  up,  at  the  thought  of  his  fi- 
tuation,  in  the  breaft  of  every  attentive  fpedtator. 
Our  joy  for  the  deliverance  of  thofe  heroes  of  tragedy 
or  romance  who  intereft  us,  is  asfincere  as  our  grief 
for  their  diftrefs,  and  our  fellow-feeling  with  their 
mifery  is  not  more  real  than  that  with  their  happinefs. 
We  enter  into  their  gratitude  towards  thofe  faithful 
friends  who  did  not  defert  them  in  their  difficulties; 
and  we  heartily  go  along  with  their  refentment  againfl 
thofe  perfidious  traitors  who  injured,  abandoned,  or 
deceived  them.  In  every  pailion  of  which  the  mind 
of  man  is  fufceptible,  the  emotions  of  the  by-ftander 
always  correfpond  to  what,  by  bringing  the  cafe 
home  to  himfelf,  he  imagines,  mould  be  the  fenti-^ 
ments  of  the  fufferer* 

Pity  and  companion  are  words  appropriated  to 
fignify  our  fellow-feeling  with  the  forrow  of  others. 
Sympathy,  though  its  meaning  was,  perhaps,  origi- 
nally the  fame,  may  now,  however,  without  much 
impropriety,  be  made  ufe  of  to  denote  our  fellow- 
feeling  with  any  pailion  whatever. 

Upon  fome  occafions  fympathy  may  feem  to 
arife  merely  from  the  view  of  a  certain  emotion  in 
another  perfon.  ^The  paflions,  upon  fome  occafions, 
may  feem  to  be  transfufed  from  one  man  to  another, 

inftantaneoufly, 


Sect.  i.  Of  Propriety, 

inftantaneoufly,  and  anteeedent  to  any  knowledge 
of  what  excited  them  in  the  perfon  principally  con- 
cerned. Grief  and  joy,  for  example,  ftrongly  ex- 
preflfed  in  the  look  and  geftures  of  any  one,  at  once 
afTed  the  fpe&ator  with  fome  degree  of  a  like  painful 
or  agreeable  emotion,  A  mailing  face  is,  to  every 
body  that  fees  it,  a  chearful  object ;  as  a  forrowful 
countenance,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  melancholy 
one. 

This,  however,  does  not  hold  univerfally,  or  with 
regard  to  every  paflion.  There  are  fome  paflions  of 
which  the  expreflions  excite  no  fort  of  fympathy, 
but  before  we  are  acquainted  with  what  gave  occa- 
fion  to  them,  ferve  rather  to  difguil  and  provoke  us 
againft  them.  The  furious  behaviour  of  an  angry 
man  is  more  likely  to  exafperate  us  againft  himfelf 
than  againft  his  enemies.  As  we  are  unacquainted 
with  his  provocation,  we  cannot  bring  his  cafe  home 
to  ourfelves,  nor  conceive  any  thing  like  the  paiTions 
which  it  excites.  But  we  plainly  fee  what  is  the  fi- 
tuation  of  thofe  with  whom  he  is  angry,  and  to 
what  violence  they  may  be  expofed  from  fo  enraged 
an  adverfary.  We  readily,  therefore,  fympathize 
with  their  fear  or  refentment,  and  are  immediately 
difpofed  to  take  part  againft  the  man  from  whom 
they  appear  to  be  in  fo  much  danger. 

If  the  very  appearances  of  grief  and  joy  infpire  us 
with  fome  degree  of  the  like  emotions,  it  is  becaufe 
they  fuggeft  to  us  the  general  idea  of  fome  good  or 
bad  fortune  that  has  befallen  the  perfon  in  whom 
we  obferve  them :  and  in  thefe  paiTions  this  is  fuffi- 
cient  to  have  fome  little  influence  upon  us.  The 
effects  of  grief  and  joy  terminate  in  the  perfon  wh® 

B  3  feet 


6  Of  P  r  o  p  i ;  i  e  t  y.  Part  L 

feels  thofe  emotions,  of  which  the  expreflions  do 
not,  like  thofe  of  refentment,  fuggell  to  us  the  idea 
of  any  other  perfon  for  whom  we  are  concerned, 
and  whofe  interefls  are  oppofite  to  his.  The  general 
idea  of  good  or  bad  fortune,  therefore,  creates  fome 
concern  for  the  perfon  who  has  met  with  it,  but  the 
general  idea  of  provocation  excites  no  fympathy 
with  the  anger  of  the  man  who  has  received  it.  Na- 
ture, it  feems,  teaches  us  to  be  more  averfe  to  enter 
into  this  paflion,  and,  till  informed  of  its  caufe,  to  be 
difpofed  rather  to  take  part  againfl:  it. 

Even  our  fympathy  with  the  grief  or  joy  of  ano- 
ther, before  we  are  informed  of  the  caufe  of  either, 
is  always  extremely  imperfect.  General  lamentati- 
ons, which  exprefs  nothing  but  the  anguifh  of  the 
fufferer,  create  rather  a  curiofity  to  inquire  into  his 
fituation,  along  with  fome  difpofition  to  fympathize 
with  him,  than  any  actual  fympathy  that  is  very  fen- 
fible.  The  firfl  queflion  which  we  alk  is,  What 
has  befallen  you  ?  Till  this  be  anfwered,  tho'  we 
are  uneafy  both  from  the  vague  idea  of  his  misfor- 
tune, and  flill  more  from  torturing  ourfelves  witlj 
conjectures  about  what  it  may  be,  yet  our  fellow- 
feeling  is  not  very  confiderable. 

Sympathy,  therefore,  does  not  arife  fo  much  frorr* 
the  view  of  the  paflion,  as  from  that  of  the  fituation, 
which  excites  it.  We  fometimes  feel  for  another, 
a  paflion  of  which  he  himfelf  feems  to  be  altogether 
incapable  j  becaufe  when  we  put  ourfelves  in  his 
cafe,  that  paflion  arifes  in  our  breaft  from  the  ima- 
gination, though  it  does  not  in  his  from  the  reality. 
We  blulh  for  the  impudence  and  rudenefs  of  ano- 
ther, though  he  himfelf  appears  to  have  no  fenfe  of 

the 


Sed.  x."  O/Propriety,  7 

the  impropriety  of  his  own  behaviour  ;  becaufe  v/e 
cannot  help  feeling  with  what  confufion  we  ourfelves 
mould  be  covered,  had  we  behaved  in  fo  abfurd  a 
manner. 

Of  all  the  calamities  to  which  the  condition  of 
mortality  expofes  mankind,  the  lofs  of  reafon  ap- 
pears, to  thofe  who  have  the  leaft  fpark  of  humanity, 
by  far  the  moil  dreadful,  and  they  behold  that  laft 
flage  of  human  wretchednefs  with  deeper  commi- 
ferationthan  any  other.  But  the  poor  wretch,  who 
is  in  it,  laughs  and  fings  perhaps,  and  is  altogether 
infenfible  of  his  own  mifery.  The  anguifti  which 
humanity  feels,  therefore,  at  the  fight  of  fuch  an 
object,  cannot  be  the  refledion  of  any  fentiment  of 
the  fufferer.  The  companion  of  the  fpedtator 
mufl  arife  altogether  from  the  confideration  of  what 
he  himfelf  would  feel  if  he  was  reduced  to  the  fame 
unhappy  fituation,  and,  what  perhaps  is  impoffible, 
was  at  the  fame  time  able  to  regard  it  with  his  pre- 
fent  reafon  andjudgment. 

J 

What  are  the  pangs  of  a  mother  when  (he  hears 
the  moaningsof  her  infant  that  during  the  agony  of 
difeafe  cannot  exprefs  what  it  feels  ?  In  her  idea  of 
what  it  fuffers,  ftie  joins,  to  its  real  helpleffnefs, 
her  own  confcioufnefs  of  that  helplefmefs,  and  her 
own  terrors  for  the  unknown  confequences  of  its 
diforder  j  and  out  of  all  thefe,  forms,  for  her  own 
forrow,  the  moll  complete  image  of  mifery  and 
diftrefs.  The  infant,  however,  feels  only  the  un- 
eafinefs  of  the  prefent  inftant,  which  can  never  be 
great.  With  regard  to  the  future  it  is  perfedlyfe- 
cure,  and  in  its^thoughtleffnefs  and  want  of  fore- 
fight  poffeffes  an  antidote  againft  fear  and  anxiety, 

b  S4  the 


*  Of  P  r  a  p  r  i  e  t  y.  Part  t 

the  great  tormentors  of  the  human  breaft,  from 
which  reafon  and  philofophy  will  in  vain  at- 
tempt   to   defend    it    when    it    grows   up    to   a 


man 


We  fympathize  even  with  the  dead,  and  over- 
looking what  is  of  real  importance  in  their  Jltuation, 
that  awful   futurity   which   awaits  them,  we     are 
chiefly  affefted  by  thofe  circumflances.  which  flrike 
our  fenfes,    but  can  have  no  influence  upon  their 
happinefs.     It  is  miferable,  we  think,  to.be  depriv- 
ed of  the  light  of  the  fun  •  to  be  (hut  out  from  life 
and  converfation  ;  to   be  laid  in  the  cold  grave,  a 
prey  to  corruption  and   the  reptiles   of  the  earth  ; 
to  be  no  more  thought  of  in  this  world,   but  to  b$ 
obliterated  in  a  little  time  from  the  affections  and 
almoft  from   the  memory  of  their  deareft  frienda 
and  relations.     Surely,  we  imagine,  we  can  never 
feel  too  much  for  thofe  who  have  fuffered  (o  dread-, 
ful  a  calamity.     The  tribute  of  our  fellow-feeling 
ieems  doubly  due  to   them  now,  when  they  are  in, 
danger  of  being  forgot  by  every  body  ;  and,  by 
the   vain   honours    which    we   pay     to   their  me- 
mory,   we  endeavour,    for   our  own   mifery,    ar- 
tificially to   keep    alive    our    melancholy    remem- 
brance   of   their  misfortune.        That    our    fym- 
pathy  can  afford  them  no  confolation  ieems  to  be 
an  addition  to  their  calamity  ;  and  to  think  that  all 
we  can  do  is  unavailing,  and  that,  what  alleviates, 
all  other  diffrefs,  the  regret,  the  love,    and  the  la- 
mentations of  their  friends,  can  yield  no  comfort  to 
them,  ferves  only  to  exafperate  our  fenfe  of  their 
mifery.   The  happinefs  of  the  dead,  however,  moil 
afliiredlv,  is  affeded  by  none  of  thefe  circumftances  ." 
flor  is  it  the  though txof  the fe  things  which  can  ever 

djft\{fti 


Sed.  i.  O/Proprietv.  $ 

difturb  the  profound  fecurity  of  their  repofe.     The 
idea  of  that  dreary  and  endlefs  melancholy,  which 
the  fancy  naturally  afcribes  to  their  condition,  arifes 
altogether   from  our  joining  to  the  change   which 
has  been  produced  upon  them,  our  own  confciouf- 
nefs  of  that  change,  from  our  putting  ourfeives  in 
their  fituation,  and  from  our  lodging,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  fay  fo,  our  own  living  fouls  in  their  inani- 
mated  bodies,  and  thence  conceiving  what  would 
be  our  emotions  in  this  cafe.     It  is  from  this  very 
illufion  of  the  imagination,  that  the  forefight  of  our 
own  diffolution  is  fo  terrible  to  us,  and  that  the  idea 
of  thofe  circumftances,  which  undoubtedly  can  give 
us  no  pain  when  we  are  dead,  makes  us  miferable 
while  we  are  alive.     And  from  thence  arifes  one  of 
the  moil  important  principles  in  human  nature,  the 
dread  of  death,  the  great  poifon  to  the  happinefs, 
but  the  great  reftraint  upon  the  injuftice  of  man- 
kind, which,  while  it  affli&s  and  mortifies  the  indi- 
vidual, guards  and  proteds  the  fociety. 


CHAP.    II. 

Of  the  Pleafure  of  mutual  Sympathy. 

.PUT  whatever  may  be  the  caufe  of  fympathy, 
or  however  it  may  be  excited,  nothing  pleafes  us 
more  than  to  obferve  in  other  men  a  fellow-feeling 
with  all  the  emotions  of  our  own  bread  •  nor  are 
we  ever  fo  much  (hocked  as  by  the  appearance  of 
the  contrary.  Thofe  who  are  fond  of  deducing  all 
pur  fentiments  from  certain  refinements  of  (elf-love, 

think 


to  ©/Propriety.'    \       Part  fC 

think  themfelves  at  no  lofs  to  account,  according  to 
their  own  principles,  both  for  this  pleafure  and  this 
pain.  Man,  fay  they,  confcious  of  his  own  weak- 
nefs  and  of  the  need  which  he  has  for  the  afliftance 
of  others,  rejoices  whenever  he  obferves  that  they 
adopt  his  own  pailions,  becaufe  he  is  then  affured 
©f  that  ailiftance;  and  grieves  whenever  he  ob- 
ferves the  contrary,  becaufe  he  is  then  afTiired  of 
their  oppofition.  But  both  the  pleafure  and  the  pain 
are  always  felt  fo  inftantaneoufly,  and  often  upon 
fuch  frivolous  occafions,  that  it  feems  evident  that 
neither  of  them  can  be  derived  from  any  fiich  felf- 
Interefted  confideration.  A  man  is  mortified  when, 
after  having  endeavoured  to  divert  the  company,  he 
looks  round  and  fees  that  no  body  laughs  at  his  jefls 
Ibuthimfelf.  On  the  contrary,  the  mirth  of  the  com- 
pany is  highly  agreeable  to  him,  and  he  regards  this 
correfpondence  of  their  fentiments  with  his  own  as 
the  greateil  applaufe. 

Neither  does  his  pleafure  feem  to  arife  altogether 
from  the  additional  vivacity  which  his  mirth  may 
leceive  from  fympathy  with  theirs,  nor  his  pain 
from  the  disappointment  he  meets  with  when  he 
mines  this  pleafure  ;  though  both  the  one  and  the 
other,  no  doubt,  do  in  fome  meafure.  When  we 
have  read  a  book  or  poem  fo  often  that  we  can  no 
longer  find  any  amufement  in  reading  it  by  our- 
felves,  we  can  flill  take  pleafure  in  reading  it  to  a 
companion.  To  him  it  has  all  the  graces  of  novel- 
ty ;  we  enter  into  the  furprize  and  admiration  which 
it  naturally  excites  in  him,  but  which  it  is.no  longer 
capable  of  exciting  in  us  -y  we  confider  all  the  ideas 
which  it  prefents  rather  in  the  light  in  which  they 
appear  to  him,    than  irvthat  in  which  they  appear 

to 


Seft.  i.  O/ProHiety,  it 

to  ourfelves,  and  we  are  amufed  by  fympa- 
thy  with  his  amufement  which  thus  enlivens  our 
own.  On  the  contrary,  we  fhould  be  vexed  if  he 
did  not  feem  to  be  entertained  with  it,  and  we  could 
no  longer  take  any  pleafure  in  reading  it  to  him. 
It  is  the  fame  cafe  here.  The  mirth  of  the  company, 
no  doubt,  enlivens  our  own  mirth,  and  their  filence, 
no  doubt,  difappoints  us.  But  though  this  may 
contribute  both  to  the  pleafure  which  we  derive 
from  the  one,  and  to  the  pain  which  we  feel  from 
the  other,  it  is  by  no  means  the  fole  caufe  of  either  ; 
and  this  correfpondence  of  the  fentiments  of  others 
with  our  own  appears  to  be  a  caufe  of  pleafure,  and 
the  want  of  it  a  caufe  of  pain,  which  cannot  be  ac- 
counted for  in  this  manner.  The  fympathy,  which 
my  friends  exprefs  with  my  joy,  might,  indeed,  give 
me  pleafure  by  enlivening  that  joy  •  but  that  which 
they  exprefs  with  my  grief  could  give  me  none,  if 
it  ferved  only  to  enliven  that  grief.  Sympathy, 
however,  enlivens  joy  and  alleviates  grief.  It  en- 
livens joy  by  prefenting  another  fource  of  fatisfa&i- 
on  ;  and  it  alleviates  grief  by  infinuating  into  the 
heart  almoft  the  only  agreeable  fenfation  which 
it  is  at  that  time  capable  of  receiving. 

It  is  to  be  obferved  accordingly,  that  we  are 
ftill  more  anxious  to  communicate  to  our  friends 
our  difagreeable  than  our  agreeable  pafTions,  that 
we  derive  dill  more  fatisfa&ion  from  their  fympa- 
thy with  the  former  than  from  that  with  the  latter, 
and  that  we  are  ftill  more  mocked  by  the  want  of  it! 

How  are  the  unfortunate    relieved    when   they 
have  found  out  a  perfon  to  whom  they  can  com- 
municate the  caufe  of  their  forrow?  Upon  his  fym- 
pathy 


iz  0/  Propriet  y.  Part  I\ 

( 
pathy  they  feem  to  difburthen  themfelves  of  a  part 

of  their  diflrefs:.  he  is  not  improperly  faid  to  fhare 
j  it  with  them.  He  not  only  feels  a  forrow  of  the 
fame  kind  with  that  which  they  feel,  but  as  if  he 
had  derived  a  part  of  it  to  himfelf,  what  he  feels 
feems  to  alleviate  the  weight  of  what  they  feel. 
Yet  by  relating  their  misfortunes,  they  in  fome 
meafure  renew  their  grief..  They  awaken  in  their 
memory  the  remembrance  of  thofe  circumttances, 
which  occanon  their  affliction.  Their  tears  accord- 
ingly flow  falter  than  before,  and  they  are  apt  to 
abandon  themfelves  to  all  the  weaknefs  of  forrow. 
They  take  pleafure,  however,  in  all  this,  and,,  it  is. 
evident,  are  fenfibly  relieved  by  it;  becaufe  the 
fweetnefs  of  his  fympathy  more  than  compenfates 
the  bitternefs  of  that  forrow,  which,  in  order  to 
excite  that  fympathy,  they  had  thus  enlivened  and 
jenewed.  The  cruelleft  infult,  on  the  contrary, 
which  can  be  offered  to  the  unfortunate,  is  to  ap- 
pear to  make  light  of  their  calamities.  To  feem 
not  to  be  affected  with  the  joy  of  our  companions 
is  but  want  of  politenefs  •,  but  not  to  wear  a  ferious 
countenance  when  they  tell  us  their  afflictions,  is  real 
and  grofs  inhumanity. 

Love  is  an  agreeable,  referitment  a  difagreeablc 
paflion-  and  accordingly  we  are  not  half  fo  anxious 
that  our  friends  fhould  adopt  our  fnendfhips,  as 
that  they  fhould  enter  into  our  refentments.  We 
can  forgive  them  though  they  feem  to  be  little  af- 
fected with  the 'favours  which  we  may  have  receiv- 
ed,, but  lofe  all  patience  if  they  feem  indifferent 
about  the  injuries  which  may  have  been  done  to  us: 
nor  are  we  half  fo  angry  with  them  for  not  entering 
into  our  gratitude,  asibr  not  fympathizing  with  our 

refentment. 


£ea.  i/  Of  Prop  ri  et  y;  13 

reientment.  They  can  eafily  avoid  being  friends 
.to  our  friends,  but  can  hardly  avoid  being  enemies 
to  thofe  with  whom  we  are  at  variance.  We  fel- 
dom  rcfent  their  being  at  enmity  with  the  firft, 
though  upon  that  account  we  may  fometimes  affect 
to  make  an  aukward  quarrel  with  them  ;  but  we 
quarrel  with  them  in  good  earneft  if  they  live  in 
Friendfhip  with  the  laft.  The  agreeable  paflions  of 
love  and  joy  can  fatisfy  and  fupport  the  heart  with- 
out any  auxiliary  pleafure.  The  bitter  and  painful 
emotions  of  grief  and  refentment  more  flrongly  re- 
quire the  healing  confclation  of  fympathy. 

As  the  perfon  who  is  principally  interefted  in  any 
event  is  pleafed  with  our  fympathy,  and  hurt  by  the 
want  of  it,  fo  we,  too,  feem  to  be  pleafed  when  we 
are  able  to  fympathize  with  him,  and  to  be  hurt 
when  we  are  unable  to  do  fo.     We  run  not  only  to 
congratulate  the  fuccefsful,  but  to  condole  with  the 
affli&ed ;  and  the  pleafure  which  we  find  in  the 
convention  of  one  whom  in  all  the  pailions  of  his 
heart  we  can  entirely  fympathize  with,  feems  to  do 
more  than  compenfate  the  painfulnefs  of  that  for- 
row  with  which  the  view  of  his  fituation  affedts  us.. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  always  difagreeable  to  feel 
■that  we  cannot  fympathize  with  him,  and  inflead  of 
being  pleafed  with  this  exemption  from  fympathetic 
pain,  it  hurts  us  to  find  that  we  cannot   (hare  his 
uneafmefs.     If  we  hear  a  perfon  loudly  lamenting 
his  misfortunes,   which,   however,    upon   bringing 
the  cafe  home  to  ourfelves,   we  feel,  can  produce  no 
fuch  violent  effecl:  upon  us,    we  are  mocked  at  his 
grief;  and,  becaufe  we  cannot  enter  into  it,  call 
.it   pufiilanimity   and    weaknefs.      It  gives  US/  the 
fpleen,  on  the  other  hand,  to  fee  another  too  hap- 
py 


14  0/  Propriety.  Part  t 

py  or  too  much  elevated,  as  we  call  it,  with  any 
little  piece  of  good  fortune.  We  are  difobliged 
even  with  his  joy,  and,  becaufe  we  cannot  go  along 
with  it,  call  it  levity  and  folly.  We  are  even  put 
out  of  humour  if  our  companion  laughs  louder  or 
longer  at  a  joke  than  we  think  it  deferves ;  that 
is,  than  we  feel  that  we  ourfelves  could  laugh  at 
it. 


A  CHAP.     III. 

Of  the  manner  in  which  we  judge  of  the  propriety  or  hit- 
propriety  of  the  affeclions  of  other  men,  by  their  concord 
or  diffonance  with  our  own. 


WHEN  the  original  paflions  of  the  perfoii 
principally  concerned  are  in  perfect  con- 
cord with  the  lympathetic  emotions  of  the  fpedta- 
tor,  they  necefiarily  appear  to  this  lafl  jufl  and 
proper,  and  fuitable  to  their  objects  ;  and,  on  the 
contrary,  when,  upon  bringing  the  cafe  home  to 
himfelf,  he  finds  that  they  do  not  coincide  with 
what  he  feels,  they  necefiarily  appear  to  him  unjufl 
and  improper,  and  unfuitable  to  the  caufes  which 
excite  them.  To  approve  of  the  paflions  of  ano- 
ther, therefore,  as  fuitable  to  their  objects,  is  the' 
fame  thing  as  to  obferve  that  we  entirely  fympathize 
with  them  ;  and  not  to  approve  of  them  as  fuch, 
is  the  fame  thing  as  to  obferve  that  we  do  not  en~ 
tirely  fympathize  withvthem.  The  man  who  re- 
fents  the  injuries  that  have  been  done  to  me,  and 

obferves 


SeA.  i.  Of  Propriety.  15 

obferves  that  I  refent  them  precifely  as  he  does,  ne- 
ceifarily  approves  of  my  refentment.  The  man 
whofe  fympathy  keeps  time  to  my  grief,  cannot 
but  admit  the  reafonablenefs  of  my  forrow.  He 
who  admires  the  fame  poem,  or  the  fame  picture, 
and  admires  them  exa&ly  as  I  do,  muft  furely  allow 
the  juftncfs  of  my  admiration.  He  who  laughs  at 
the  fame  joke,  and  laughs  along  with  me,  cannot 
well  deny  the  propriety  of  my  laughter.  On  the 
•contrary,  the  perfon  who,  upon  thefe  different  oc- 
cafions,  either  feels  no  fuch  emotion  as  that  which 
I  feel,  or  feels  none  that  bears  any  proportion  to 
mine,  cannot  avoid  difapproving  my  fentiments  on 
account  of  their  diffonance  with,  his  own.  If  my 
animofity  goes  beyond  what  the  indignation  of  my 
friend  can  correfpond  to  ;  if  my  grief  exceeds  what 
his  moft  tender  companion  can  go  along  with;  if 
my  admiration  is  either  too  high  or  too  low  to  tally 
with  his  own  ;  if  I  laugh  loud  and  heartily  when  he 
only  fmiles,  or,  on  the  contrary,  only  fmile  when  he 
laughs  loud  and  heartily  ;  in  all  thefe  cafes,  as  foon 
as  he  comes  from  confidering  the  object,  to  obferve 
how  I  am( affected  by  it,  according  as  there  is  more 
or  lefs  difproportion  between  his  fentiments  and 
mine,  I  mull  incur  a  greater  or  lefs  degree  of  his 
difapprobation :  and  upon  all  occafions  his  own 
fentiments  are  the  ilandards  and  meafures  by  which 
he  judges  of  mine. 

To  approve  of  another  man's  opinions  is  to  adopt 
thofe  opinions,  and  to  adopt  them  is  to  approve  of 
them.  If  the  fame  arguments  which  convince  you 
convince  me  likewife,  I  neceffarily  approve  ,of  your 
conviction  >,  and  if  they  do  not,  I  neceffarily  difap-  • 
prove  of  it :  neitiier  can  I  poffibly  conceive  that  I 

fhoujci 


i6  O/Propriety.  Part  h 

fliould  do  the  one  without  the  other.  To  approve 
or  difapprove,  therefore,  of  the  opinions  of  others 
is  acknowledged,  by  every  body,  to  mean  no  more 
than  to  obferve  their  agreement  or  di  (agreement 
with  our  own.  But  this  is  equally  the  cafe  with 
regard  to  our  approbation  or  difapprobation  of  the 
fentiments  or  paiftons  of  others. 

There  are,  indeed,  fome  cafes  in  which  we  feerri 
to  approve  without  any  fympathy  or  correfpondence 
of  fentiments,  and  in  which,  confequeritly,  the  fen- 
timent  of  approbation  would  feerri  to  be  different 
from  the  perception  of  this  coincidence.  A  little 
attention,  however,  will  convince  us  that  even  in 
thefe  cafes  our  approbation  is  ultimately  founded 
upon  a  fympathy  or  correfpondence  of  this  kind. 
I  fhall  give  an  inftance  in  things  of  a  very  frivolous 
nature,  becaufe  in  them  the  ^judgments  of  mankind 
are  lefs  apt  to  be  perverted  by  wrongTyitems.  We 
may  often  approve  of  a  jell,  and  think  the  laughter 
of  the  company  quite  juft  and  proper,  though  we 
ourfelves  do  not  laugh,  becaufe,  perhaps,  we  are  in 
a  grave  humour,  or  happen  to  have  our  attention 
engaged  with  other  objects.  We  have  learned, 
however,  from  experience,  what  fort  of  pleafantry 
Is  upon  mofl  occafions  capable  of  making  us  laugh, 
and  we  obferve  that  this  is  one  of  that  kind.  We 
approve,  therefore,  of  the  laughter  of  the  company, 
and  feel  that  it  is  natural  and  fuitable  to  its  object ; 
becaufe,  though  in  our  prefent  mood  we  cannot  eafily 
enter  into  it,  we  are  fenfible  that  upon  mofl  occa- 
fions we  mould  very  heartily  join  in  it. 

The  fame  thing  often  happens  with  regard  to  all 
the  other  paflions,     A  ftranger  pafles  by  us  in  the 

ilreet 


Sect,  i.  Of  Propriety.  17 

ilreet  with  all  the  marks  of  the  deepeit  affliction* 
and  we  are  immediately  told  that  he  has  jufl  re- 
ceived the  news  of  the  death  of  his  father.  It  is  im- 
poilible  that,  in  this  cafe,  we  mould  not  approve  of 
his  grief.  Yet  it  may  often  happen,  without  any 
defect  of  humanity  on  our  part,  that,  fo  far  from 
entering  into  the  violence  of  his  forrow,  we  ihoutd 
fcarce  conceive  the  firft  movements  of  concern  upon 
his  account.  Both  he  and  his  father,  perhaps,  are 
intirely  unknown  to  us,  or  we  happen  to  he  employed 
about  other  things,  and  do  not  take  time  to  picture 
out  in  our  imagination  the  different  circumflances  of 
diftrefs  which  mufl  occur  to  him.  We  have  learn- 
ed, however,  from  experience,  that  fuch  a  misfor- 
tune naturally  excites  fuch  a  degree  of  forrow,  and 
we  know  that  if  we  took  time  to  confider  his  fitua- 
tion,  fully  and  in  all  its  parts,  we  mould,  without 
doubt,  moil  fmcerely  fympathize  with  him.  It  is 
upon  the  confcioufnefs  of  this  conditional  fympathy, 
that  our  approbation  of  his  forrow  is  founded,  even 
in  thole  cafes  in  which  that  fympathy  does  not  ac- 
tually take  place ;  and  the  general  rules  derived 
from  our  preceding  experience  of  what  our  fenti- 
ments  would  commonly  correfpond  with,  correct 
upon  this,  as  upon  many  other  occafions,  the  impro- 
priety of  our  prefent  emotions. 

The  fentiment  or  affection  of  the  heart  from 
which  any  action  proceeds,  and  upon  which  its  whole 
virtue  or  vice  mufl  ultimately  depend,  may  be  con- 
fidered  under  two  different  afpects,  or  in  two  diffe- 
rent relations;  firft,  in  relation  to  the  caufe  which 
excites  it,  or  the  motive  which  gives  occafion  to  it; 
and  fecondly,  in  relation  to  the  end  which  it  propofes, 
or  the  effect  which  it  tends  to  produce. 

C  In 


18  O/Propriety.  Part  I. 

In  the  fuitablenefs  or  unfuitablenefs,  in  the  pro- 
portion or  difproportion  which  the  affection  feems 
to  bear  to  the  caufe  or  object  which  excites  it,  con- 
firms the  propriety  or  impropriety,  the  decency  or 
ungracefulnefs  of  the  confequent  action. 

In  the  beneficial  or  hurtful  nature  of  the  effects 
which  the  affection  aims  at,  or  tends  to  produce, 
confifts  the  merit  or  demerit  of  the  action,  the  qua- 
lities by  which  it  is  entitled  to  reward,  or  is  deferv- 
rag  of  punifhment. 

Philofo pliers  have,  of  late  years,  confidered  chiefly 
the  tendency  of  affections,  and  have  given  little 
attention  to  the  relation  which  they  ltand  in  to  the 
caufe  which  excites  them.  In  common  life,  however, 
when  we  judge  of  any  perfon's  conduct,  and  of  the 
fentiments  which  directed  it,  we  conflantly  confider 
them  under  both  thefe  afpects.  When  we  blame  in 
another  man  the  exceffes  of  love,  of  grief,  of  refent- 
ment,  we  not  only  confider  the  ruinous  effects 
which  they  tend  to  produce,  but  the  little  occafion 
which  was  given  for  them.  The  merit  of  his  favou- 
rite, we  fay,  is  not  fo  great,  his  misfortune  is  not  fo 
dreadful,  his  provocation  is  not  fo  extraordinary,  as 
to  j uft if y  fo  violent  a  paffion.  We  fhould  have  in- 
dulged, we  fay;  perhaps,  have  approved  of  the  vio- 
lence of  his  emotion,  had  the  caufe  been  in  any  re- 
fpect  proportioned  to  it. 

When  we  judge  in  this  manner  of  any  affection, 
as  proportioned  or  difproportioned  to  the  caufe  which 
excites  it,  it  is  fcarce  poilible.  that  we  mould  make 
life  of  any  other  rule  or  canon  but  the  correspondent 
affection  in  ourfelves.     If,  upon  bringing  the  cafe 


S*6t  t.  O/Propriety,  \§ 

home  to  our  own  breaft,  we  find  that  the  fentiments 
which  it  gives  occafion  to,  coincide  and  tally  with 
our  own,  we  neceffarily  approve  of  them  as  propor- 
tioned and  fuitable  to  their  objects^  if  other  wife, 
we  neceflarily  difapprove  of  them,  as  extravagant 
and  out  of  proportion. 

tvery  faculty  in  one  man  is  the  meafure  by  which 
he  judges  of  the  like  faculty  in  another.  I  judge  of 
your  fight  by  my  fight,  of  your  ear  by  my  ear,  of 
your  reafon  by  my  reafon,  of  your  refentment  by 
my  refentment,  of  your  love  by  my  love.  I  neither 
have  nor  can  have  any  other  way  of  judging  about 
them. 


CHAP.      JV. 

The  fame   fubjecl-    continued 

W  E  may  judge  of  the  propriety  or  impropriety 
of  the  fentiments  of  another  perfon  by  their  corre- 
fpondence  or  difagreement  with  our  own,  upon  two 
different  occafions  ;  either,  fiift,  when  the  objects- 
which  excite  them  are  conlidered  without  any  pe- 
culiar relation,  either  to  themfelves  or  to  the  perfon 
whofe  fentiments  we  judge  of;  orA  fecondly,  when 
they  are  confidered  as  peculiarly  affe&ing  one  or 
©ther  of  us. 

G  2  t  .  With 


£o  Of  Propriety.  Parti. 

i.  With  regard  to  thofe  objects  which  are  con- 
fidered  without  any  peculiar  relation  either  to  our- 
felves  or  to  the  perfon  whofe  fentiments  we  judge 
of;    wherever    his    fentiments  intirely   correfpond 
with  our  own,  we  afcribe  to  him  the  qualities  of  tafte 
and  good  judgment.     The  beauty  of  a  plain,  the 
greatnefs  of  a  mountain,  the  ornaments  of  a  build- 
ing, the  expreffion  of  a  picture,  the  compofition  of 
a  difcourfe,  the  conducVof  a  third  perfon,  the  pro- 
portions of  different  quantities  and  numbers,  the 
various  appearances  which  the  great  machine  of  the 
univerfe  is  perpetually  exhibiting,  with  the  fecret 
wheels  and  fprings   which  produce  them;  all  the 
general  fabjects  of  fcience  and  tafte,  are  what  we 
and  our  companions  regard,  as  having  no  peculiar 
relation  to  either  of  us.     We  both  look  at  them 
from  the  fame  point  of  view,  and  we  have  no  oc- 
cafion  for  fympathy,  or  for  that  imaginary  change 
of  fituations  from  which  it  arifes,  in  order  to  pro- 
duce, with  regard  to  thefe,  the  moft  perfect  harmony 
of  fentiments  and  affections.     If,  notwithstanding, 
we  are  often  differently  affected,  it  arifes  either  from 
the  different   degrees  of  attention,  which  our  diffe- 
rent habits  of  life  allow  us  to  give  eafily  to  the  feveral 
parts  of  thofe  complex  objects,  or  from  the  different 
degrees  of  natural  acutenefs  in  the  faculty  of  the 
mind  to  which  they  are  addreffed. 

When  die  fentiments  $)f  our  companion  coincide 
with  our  own  in  things  of  this  kind,  which  are  ob- 
vious and  eafy,  and  in  which,  perhaps,  we  never 
found  a  fingle  perfon  who  differed  from  us,  though 
we,  no  doubt,  mufl  approve  of  them,  yet  he  feem's 
to  deferve  no  praife  or  admiration  on  account  of 
them.     But  when  they  not  only  coincide  with  our 

own- 


Sect.  I.  Of  Propriety.  21 

own,  but  lead  and  direct  our  own ;  when  in  forming 
them  he  appears  to  have  attended  to  many  things 
which  we  had  overlooked,   and  to  have  adjufted 
them  to  all  the  various  circumftances  of  their  objects ; 
we  not  only  approve  of  them,  but  wonder  and  are 
furprifed  at  their  uncommon  and  unexpected  ac- 
cutenefs  and  comprehenfivenefs,  and  he  appears  to 
deferve  a  very  high  degree  of  admiration  and  ap- 
plaufe.     For  approbation  heightened  by  wonder  and 
furprife,  conftitutes  the  fentiment  which  is  properly 
called  admiration,  and  of  which  applaufe  is  the  na- 
tural  expreffion.     The  decifion  of  the    man  who 
judges  that   exquifite  beauty  is  preferable   to  the 
groffeft  deformity,  or  that  twice  two  are  equal  to 
four,  mull  certainly  be  approved  of  by  all  the  world, 
but  will  not,   furely,  be  much  admired.     It  is  the 
acute  and  delicate  difcernment  of  the  man  of  tafte, 
who  diftitjguim.es  the  minute,  and  fcarce  perceptible., 
differences  of  beauty  and  deformity  ;  it  is  the  com- 
prehenfive  accuracy  of  the  experienced  mathemati- 
cian, who  unravels,  with  eafe,    the  molt  intricate 
and  perplexed  proportions  ;    it  is  the  great  leader  in 
fcience  and  tafte,  the  man  who  directs  and  conducts 
our  own  fentiments,  the  extent  and  fuperior  juftnefs 
of  whofe  talents  aftonifti  us  with  wonder  and  fur- 
prife, who  excites  our  admiration  and  feems  to  de- 
ferve our  applaufe :    and  upon  this  foundation  is 
grounded  the  greater  part  of  the  praife  which  is 
beftowed    upon    what    are   called    the   intellectual 
virtues. 

The  utility  of  thofe  qualities,  it  may  be  thought, 
is  what  firft  recommends  them  to  us  j  and,  no  doubt, 
the  confideration  of  this,  when  we  come  to  attend 
to  it, -gives  them  a  new  value.     Originally,  however, 

C  q  we 


22  0/  Propriety.  Part  I. 

we  approve  of  another  man's  judgment,  not  as  fome- 
thing  ufeful,  but  as  right,  as  accurate,  as  agreeable 
to  truth  and  reality  :  and  it  is  evident  we  attribute 
thofe  qualities  to  it  for  no  other  reafon  but  becaufe 
we  find  that  it  agrees  with  our  own.  Tafte,  in  the 
fame  manner,  is  originally  approved  of,  not  as  ufe- 
ful, but  as  juft,  as  delicate,  and  as  precifely  fuited  to 
its  object  The  idea  of  the  utility  of  all  qualities  of 
this  kind,  is  plainly  an  after-thought,  and  not  what 
tirft  recommended  them  to  our  approbation. 

%.  With  regard  to  thofe  objects,  which  affect  in 
a  particular  manner  either  ourfelves  or  the  perfon 
whofe  fentiments  we  judge  of,  it  is  at  once  more 
difficult  to  preferve  this  harmony  and  correfpon- 
dence,  and  at  the  fame  time,  vaftly  more  important. 
My  companion  does  not  naturally  look  upon  the 
misfortune  that  has  befallen  me,  or  the  injury  that 
has  been  done  me,  from  the  fame  point  of  view  in 
which  I  confider  them.  They  affect  me  much 
more  nearly.  We  do  not  view  them  from  the  fame 
ftation,  as  we  do  a  picture, -or  a  poem,  or  a.fyftem 
cf  philofophv,  and  are,  therefore,  apt  to  be  verv 
dirTerently  affected  by  them.  But  I  can  much  more 
jeafily  overlook  the  want  of  this  correfpondence  of 
fentiments  with  regard  to  fuch  indifferent  objects 
as  concern  neither  me  nor  my  companion,  than  with 
regard  to  what  interefts  me  ib  much  as  the  misfor- 
tune that  has  befallen  me,  or  the  injury  that  lias  been 
done  me.  Though  you  defplfe  that  picture,  or 
that  poem,  or  even  that  fyftem  of  philofophv,  which 
I  admire,  there  is  little  danger  of  our  quarrelling 
upon  that  account.  Neither  of  us  can  reafonahly 
be  much  interefted  about  them.  They  ought  all 
flf  them  to  be  matters  of  great  indifference  to  us 

"'-;-■        both, 


Sedt.  i.  Of  Propriety.  23 

both;  fo  that,  though  our  opinions  may  be  oppofite, 
our  affections  may  dill  be  very  nearly  the  fame. 
But  it  is  quite  other  wife  with  regard  to  thofe  objects 
by  which  either  you  or  I  are  particularly  affected. 
Though  your  judgment  in  matters  of  (peculation, 
though  your  fentiments  in  matters  of  taite,  are 
quite  -oppofite  to  mine,  I  can  eafily  overlook  this 
oppofition.;  and  if  I  have  any  degree  of  temper,  I 
may  ftill  find  forne  entertainment  in  yom  conver- 
fation,  even  upon  thofe  very  fubjedts.  But  if  you 
have  either  no  fellow-feeling  for  the  misfortunes  I 
have  met  with,  or  none  that  bears  any  proportion 
to  the  grief  which  didradts  me  -,  or  if  you  have  either 
no  indignation  at  the  injuries  I  have  futTered,  or 
none  that  bears  any  proportion  to  the  refentment 
which  tranfports  me,  we  can  no  longer  converfe 
upon  thefe  fubjedts.  We  become  intolerable  to  or\Q 
another.  I  can  neither  fupport  your  company,  nor 
you  mine.  You  are  confounded  at  my  violence 
stud  pailion,  and  I  am  enraged  at  your  cold  infenfi- 
bility  and  want  of  feeling. 

In  all  fuch  cafes,  that  there  may  be  fome  corref- 
pondence  of  fentiments  between  the  fpedtator  and 
the  perfon  principally  concerned,  the  fpectator 
mud,  firft  of  all,  endeavour,  as  much  as  he  can,  to 
put  him  (elf  in  the  fituation  of  the  other,  and  to  bring 
Jiome  to  himfelf  every  little  eircurhftahce  of  diftfefs 
which  can  poilibly  occur  to  the  fufferer.  He  mud 
adopt  the  whole  cafe  of  his  companion  with  all  its 
minuted  incidents  j  and  drive  to  render  as  perfect 
as  poiiible,  that  imaginary  change  of  fituation  upon 
v/hich  his  fvmpathy  is  founded. 

After  all  this,  however,  the  emotions  of  the  fpec-r 
tafor  will  ftill  be  very  apt  to  fall  lTiort  of  the  violence 

C  A 


24  0/P  RopRiETY.    .  Part  I. 

of  what  is  felt  by  the  fufferer.  Mankind,  though 
naturally  fympathetic,  never  conceive,  for  what  has 
befallen  another,  that  degree  of  paflion  which  na- 
turally animates  the  perfon  principally  concerned. 
That  imaginary  change  of  fitnation,  upon  which 
their  fympathy  is  founded,  is  but  momentary. 
The  thought  of  their  own  fafety,  the  thought  that 
they  themfelves  are  not  really  the  fufferers,  contin- 
ally  intrudes  itfelf  upqn  them  ;  and  though  it  does 
not  hinder  them  from  conceiving  a  paffion  fome- 
what  analogous  to  what  i$  felt  by  the  fufferer,  hin- 
ders them  from  conceiving  any  thing  that  approaches 
to  the  fame  degree  of  violence.  The  perfon  princi- 
pally concerned  is  fenfible  of  this,  and,  at  the  fame 
time  paffionately  defires  a  more  complete  fympathy. 
He  longs  for  that  relief  which  nothing  can  afford 
him  but  the  entire  concord  of  the  affections  of  the 
fpe&ators  with  his  own.  To  fee  the  emotions  of 
their  hearts,  in  every  refpecl,  beat  time  to  his  own, 
in  the  violent  and  difagreeable  pafiions,  conflitutes 
his  fole  confolation.  But  he  can  only  hope  to  ob- 
tain this  .by  lowering  his  paflion  to  that  pitch,  in 
which  the  fpectators  are  capable  of  going  along 
with  him.  He  mull  flatten,  if  I  may  be  allowed 
to  fay  fo,  the  lliarpnefs  of  its  natural  tone,  in  order 
to  reduce  it  to  harmony  and  concord  with  the  emo- 
tions of  thofe  who  are  about  him.  What  they 
feel,  will,  indeed,  always  be,  in  fome  refped'ts,  dif- 
ferent from  what  he  feels,  and  companion  can  never 
be  exactly  the  fame  with  original  forrow  •  becaufe 
the  fecret  corifcioufnefs  that  the  change  of  fituations, 
from  which  the  fympathetic  fentiment  arifes,  is  but 
imaginary,  not  only  lowers  it  in  degree,  but  in  fome 
mre,  varies  it  in  kind,  and  gives  it  a  quite  diffe- 
v  rent 


Sect,  i.  Of  Propriety.  2$ 

rent  modification.  Thefe  two  fentiments,  how- 
ever, may,  it  is  evident,  have  fuch  a  correfpondence 
with  one  another,  as  is  fufncient  for  the  harmony  of 
fociety.  Though  they  will  never  be  unifons,  they 
may  be  concords,  and  this  is  ail  that  is  wanted  or 
required. 

In  order  to  produce  this  concord,  as  nature  teaches 
the  fpectators  to  aifume   the  circumftances  of  the 
perfon  principally  concerned,  fo  fhe  teaches  this  laft 
in  fome  meafure  to  affume  thofe  of  the   fpectators. 
As  they  are  continually   placing  themfelves  in  this 
fituation,  and  thence  conceiving  emotions  fimilar  to 
what  he  feels  ;    fo  he  is  as  conflantly  placing  himfelf 
in  theirs,  and  thence  conceiving  fome  degree  of  that 
coolnefs  about  his  own  fortune,  with  which  he  is  fen* 
fible  that  they  will  view  it.     As  they  are  conflantly 
confidering  what  they  themfelves  would  feel,  if  they 
actually  were  the  fufrerers,  fo  he  is  as  conftantly  led 
to  imagine  in  what  manner  he  would  be  affected  if 
he  was  only  one  of  the  fpectators  of  his  own  fitu- 
ation.    As  their  fympathy  makes  them  look  at  it, 
in  fome  meafure,  with  his  eyes,  fo  his  fympathy 
makes  him  look  at  it,  in  fome  meafure,  with  theirs, 
efpecialiy  when  in  their  prefence  and  acting  under 
their  obfervation:  and  as  the  reflected  pailion,  which 
he  thus  conceives,  is  much  weaker  than  the  original 
one,  it  necefiarily  abates  the  violence  of  what  he  felt 
before  he  came  into  their  prefence,  before  he  began 
to  recollect  in  what  manner  they  would  be  affected 
by  it,  and  to  view  his  fituation  in  this  candid  and 
impartial  light. 

The 


26  Of  Propriety.  Part  I, 

The  mind,  therefore,  h  rarely  fo  difcurbed,  but 
that  the  company  of  a  friend  will  reftore  it  to  fome 
degree  of  tranquillity  and  fedatenefs.  The  breaft 
is,  in  fome  meafare,  calmed  and  compofed  the  mo- 
ment we  come  into  his  prefence.  We  are  imme- 
diately put  in  mind  of  the  light  in  which  he  will 
view  our  fituation,  and  we  begin  to  view  it  ourfelves 
in  the  fame  light ;  for  the  effect  of  fympathy  is  in- 
ftantaneous.  We  expect  left  fympathy  from  a  com- 
mon acquaintance  than  from  a  friend  :  we  cannot 
open  to  the  former  all  thofe  Rttle  circumftances 
which  we  can  unfold  to  the  latter :  we  a  flume, 
therefore,  more  tranquillity  before  him,  and  endea- 
vour to  fix  our  thoughts  upon  thofe  general  out  ■ 
lines  of  our  fituation  which  he  is  willing  to  confider. 
We  expect  ftill  leis  fympathy  from  an  aflfembly  of 
ftran^ers,  and  we  affume,  therefore,  ftill  more  tran- 
quillity before  them,  and  always  endeavour  to  bring 
down  our  paflion  to  that  pitch,  which  the  particular 
company  we  are  in  may  be  expecled  to  go  along 
with.  Nor  is  this  only  an  a(Tumed  appearance  : 
for  if  we  are  at  all  matters  of  ourfelves,  the  prefence 
of  a  mere  acquaintance  will  really  compofe  us,  ftill 
more  than  that  of  a  friend  ;  and  that  of  an  ailernbly 
of  ftrangers  ftill  more  than  that  of  an  acquaint- 
ance. 

Society  and  coverfation,  therefore,  are  the'  mof| 
powerful  remedies  for  reftoring  the  mind  to  its 
tranquillity,  if,  at  any  time,  it  has  unfortunately  loft 
it  •  as  well  as  the  belt  prefervatives  of  that  equal 
and  happy  temper,  which  is  fo  neceilary  to  felf- 
fatisfa£tion  and  enjoyment.  Men  of  r  / '  remerit  and' 
fpeciilation,  who  ate  apt  to  fit  brooding  at  borne 

over 


Sect,  i.  cy  Propriety.  27 

over  either  grief  or  refentment,  though  they  may 
often  have  more  humanity,  more  generofity,  and  a 
nicer  fenfe  of  honour,  yet  feldom  poiTefs  that  equality 
of  temper  which  is  fo  common  among  men  of  the 
world. 


CHAP.      V. 

Of  the  amiable  and  refpetlable  virtues. 


LJ  P  O  N  thefe  two  different  efforts,  upon  that 
of  the  fpectator  to  enter  into  the  fentiments  of  the 
peffon  principally  concerned,  and  upon  that  of  the 
perfon  principally  concerned,  to  bring  down  his 
emotions  to  what  the  fpedtator  can  go  along  with, 
are  founded  two  different  fets  of  virtues.  The  foft, 
the  gentle,  the  amiable  virtues,  the  virtues  of  candid 
condefcenfion  and  indulgent  humanity,  are  founded 
upon  the  one  :  the  great,  the  awful  and  refpectable, 
the  virtues  of  felf-denial,  of  felf-government,  of  that 
command  of  the  paffions  which  fubjects  ail  the 
movements  of  our  nature  to  what  our  own  dignity 
and  honour,  and  the  propriety  of  our  own  conduct 
require,  derive  their  origin  from  the  other. 

How  amiable  does  he  appear  to  be,  whofe  fym- 
pathetic  heart  feems  to  re-echo  all  the  fentiments 
of  thofe  with  whom  he  converfes,  who  grieves  for 
their  calamities,  who  relents  their  injuries,  and  re-    f 

ioices 


2B  0/  Propriety,  Fart  I, 

joices  at  their  good  fortune  !  When  we  bring  home 
to  ourfelves  the  fituation  of  his  companions,  we 
Enter  into  their  gratitude,  and  feel  what  confoiation 
they  mull  derive  from  the  tender  fympathy  of  fo 
affectionate  a  friend.  And  for  a  contrary  reafon, 
how  difagreeable  does  he  appear  to  be,  whofe  hard 
and  obdurate  heart  feels  for  himfelf  only,  but  is  alto- 
gether infenfible  of  the  happinefsor  mifery  of  others! 
We  enter,  in  this  cafe  too,  into  the  pain  which  his 
prefence  muff  give  to  every  mortal  with  whom  he 
converfes,  to  thofe  efpecially  with  whom  we  are 
mod  apt  to  fympathize,  the  unfortunate  and  the  in- 
jured. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  noble  propriety  and 
grace  do  we  feel  in  the  conduct  of  thofe  who,  in 
their  own  cafe,  exert  that  recollection  and  fclf- 
command  which  conftitute  the  dignity  of  every 
paflion,  and  which  bring  it  down  to  what  others 
can  enter  into?  We  are  difgufted  with  that  clamo- 
rous grief,  which,  without  any  delicacy,  calls  upon 
our  compailion  with  fighs  and  tears  and  importunate 
lamentations.  But  we  reverence  that  referved,  that 
filent  and  majeflic  forrow,  which  difcovers  itfelf 
only  in  the  fwelling  of  the  eyes,  in  the  quivering  of 
the  lips  and  cheeks,  and  i-n  the  diftant,  but  affecting, 
coldnefs  of  the  whole  behaviour.  It  impofes  tfo$ 
like  filence  upon  us.  We  regard  it  with  refpectful 
attention,  and  watch  with  anxious  concern  over  our 
whole  behaviour,  left  by  any  impropriety  we  fhouid 
difiurb  that  concerted  tranquillity,  which  it  requires 
fo  great  an  effort  to  llipport. 

The  infolence  and  brutality  of  anger,  in  the  fame 
manner  when  we  indulge  its  fury  wjiheitat  check  or 

-  reftraint, 


Sect  i.  Of  Propriety.  2^ 

reftraint,  is,  of  all  fubjects,  the  mofl  deteflable. 
But  v/e  admire  that  noble  and  generous  refentment 
which  governs  its  purfuit  of  the  greater!  injuries, 
not  by  the  rage  which  they  are  apt  to  excite  in  the 
bread  of  the  fulTerer,  but  by  the  indignation  which 
they  naturally  call  forth  in  that  of  the  impartial  fpec- 
tator;  which  allows  no  word,  no  gefture,  to  efcape 
it  beyond  what  this  more  equitable  fentiment  would 
dictate^  which  never,  even  in  thought,  attempts  any 
greater  vengeance,  nor  defires  to  inflict  any  greater 
punifhment,  than  what  every  indifferent  perfon 
would  rejoice  to  fee  executed. 

And  hence  it  is,  that  to  feel  much  for  others  and 
little  for  ourfeives,  that  toreflrain  our  feliifh,  and  to 
indulge  our  benevolent  affections,  conflitutes  the 
perfection  of  human  nature;  and  can  alone  produce 
among  mankind  that  harmony  of  fentiments  and 
paiEons  in  which  confiil  their  whole  grace  and  pro- 
priety. As  to  love  our  neighbour *as  we  love  our- 
feives is  the  great  law  of  chfifrianity,  fo  it  is  the  great 
precept  of  nature  to  love  ourfeives  only  as  we  love 
our  neighbour,  or  what  comes  to  the  fame  thing,  as 
our  neighbour  is  capable  of  loving  us. 

As  tafle  and  good  judgmenr,  when  they  are  con- 
fidered  as  qualities  which  deferve  praife  and  admi- 
ration, are  fuppofed  to  imply  a  delicacy  of  fentiment 
and  an  acutenefs  of  understanding  not  commonly 
to  be  met  with;  fo  the  virtues  of  fen  Ability  and  felf- 
comnaand  are  not  apprehended  to  eonMrl  in  the  or- 
dinary,  but  in  the  uncommon  degrees  of  thofe  qua- 
lities. The  amiable  virtue  of  humanity  requires, 
fureiy,  a  feniibility,  much  beyond  what  is  porTeiied 
by  the  rude  vulgar  of  mankind      The  great  and 

exalte  (J 


30  Of  P  r  o  p  r  i  e  t  y.  Part  I. 

exalted  virtue  of  magnanimity  undoubtedly  de- 
mands much  more  than  that  degree  of  felf-com- 
mand, which  the  weakeft  of  mortals  are  capable  of 
exerting.  As  in  the  common  degree  of  the  intel- 
lectual qualities,  there  are  no  abilities ;  fo  in  the 
common  degree  of  the  moral,  there  is  no  virtue. 
Virtue  is  excellence,  fomething  uncommonly  great 
and  beautiful,  which  rifes  far  above  what  is  vulgar 
and  ordinary.  The  amiable  virtues  confift  in  that 
degree  of  fenfibility  which  furprizes  by  its  exquifite 
and  unexpected  delicacy  and  tendernefs.  The  aw- 
ful and  refpectable,  in  that  degree  of  felf-command 
which  aftonifhes  by  its  amazing  fuperiority  over  the 
moll  ungovernable  paffions  of  human  nature. 

There  is,  in  this  refpect,  a  confiderable  difference 
between  virtue  and  mere  propriety ;  between  thofe 
qualities  and  actions  which  deferve  to  be  admired 
and  celebrated,  and  thofe  which  fimply  deferve  to 
be  approved  of.  Upon  many  occafions,  to  act 
with  the  mod  perfect  propriety,  requires  no  more 
than  that  common  and  ordinary  degree  of  fenfibility 
or  felf-command  which  the  molt  worthlefs  of  man- 
kind are  polfeffed  of,  and  fometimes  even  that  de- 
gree is  not  neceffary.  Thus,  to  give  a  very  low  in- 
ftance,  to  eat  when  we  are  hungry,  is  certainly,  up- 
on ordinary  occafions,  perfectly  right  and  proper, 
and  cannot  mifs  being  approved  of  as  fuch  by  every 
body.  Nothing,  however,  Could  be  more  abfurd 
than  to  fay  it  is  virtuous. 

On  the  contrary,  there  may  frequently  be  a  con- 
fiderable degree  of  virtue  in  thofe  actions,  which 
fall  fhort  of  the  moft  perfect  propriety ;  becaufe 
they  may  ft  ill  approach  nearer  to  perfection  than 

coul4 


8fe<Sc.  i.  G/Fropriety.  31 

could  well  be  expected  upon  occafions  in  which  it 
was  fo  extremely  difficult  to  attain  it :  and  this  is 
very  often  the  cafe  upon  thofe  occafions  which  re- 
quire the  greater!  exertions  of  felf-command.  There 
are  fame  filiations  which  bear  fo  hard  upon  human 
nature,  that  die  greatefl  degree  of  felf-government, 
which  can  belong  to  fo  imperfect  a  creature  as  man., 
is  not  able  to  'iiifle,  altogether,  the  voice  of  human 
weaknefs,  or  reduce  the  violence  of  the  pallions  to 
that  pitch  of  moderation,  in  which  the  impartial, 
fpeclator  can  entirely  enter  into  them.  Though  m 
thofe  cafes,  therefore,  the  behaviour  of  the  fufferci 
fall  lliort  of  the  moil  perfect  propriety,  it  may  (till 
deferve  Come  applaufe,  and  even  in  a  certain  fenfe, 
may  be  denominated  virtuous.  It  may  ftill  rnani- 
feft  an  effort  of  generofity  and  magnanimity  of 
which  the  greater  part  of  men  are  incapable  ;  and 
though  it  fails  of  abioiute  perfection,  it  may  he  a 
much  nearer  approximation  to  waives  perfection,  than 
s\  hat,  upon  fiich  trying  occafions,  is  commonly  ei~ 
tlier  to  be  found  or  to  be  expedited. 

In  cafes  of  this  kind,  when  we  are  determining 
The  degree  of  blame  or  applaufe  which  feems  due  to 
any  adiion,  we  very  frequently  make  ufe  of  two 
different  frandards.  The  firft  is  the  idea  of  com- 
plete propriety  and  perfection,  which,  in  thofe  dif- 
ficult Situations,  no  human  conduct  ever  did,  or 
even  can  come  up  to ;  and  in  comparifon  with 
which  the  adtions  of  all  men  mult  for  ever  appear 
blameable  and  imperfect.  The  fecond  is  the  idea  of 
that  degree  of  proximity  or  diflance  from  this  com- 
plete perfection,  which  the  actions  of  the  greater 
part  of  men  commonly  arrive  at  Whatever  goes 
beyond  this  degree,  how  far  foey«r  it  may  be  re- 
moved 


32  O/Propriety,  Part  I. 

moved  from  abfolute  perfection,  feems  to  deferve 
applaufe  ;  and  whatever  falls  fhort  of  it,  to  deferve 
blame. 

It  Is  in  the  fame  manner  that>  we  judge  of  the 
productions  of  all  arts  which  addrefs  themfelves  to 
the  imagination.  When  a  critic  examines  the  work 
of  any  of  the  great  mafters  for  poetry  or  painting, 
he  may  fometimes  examine  it  by  an  idea  of  perfec- 
tion, in  his  own  mind,  which  neither  that  nor  any 
other  human  work  will  ever  come  up  to ;  and  as 
long  as  he  compares  it  with  this  ftandard,  he  can 
fee  nothing  in  it  but  faults  and  imperfections.  But 
when  he  come  to  confider  the  rank  which  it  ought 
to  hold  among  other  works  of  the  fame  kind,  he 
neceffarily  compares  it  with  a  very  different  ftandard, 
the  common  degree  of  excellence  which  is  ufually 
attained  in  this  particular  art ;  and  when  he  judges 
of  it  by  this  new  meafure,  it  may  often  appear  to 
deferve  the  higheft  applaufe,  upon  account  of  its 
approaching  much  riearer  to  perfection  than  the 
greater  part  of  thofe  works  which  can  be  brought 
into  competition  with  it. 


SECTION 


■ 


Seft.  2.  0/ Propriety.  33 


SECTION     It 


Of  the  degrees  of  the  different  paflions  which  are 
confiftent  with  propriety, 


INTRODUCTION. 


HE  propriety  of  every  paflion  excited  by  ob- 
jects peculiarly  related  to  ourfelves,  the  pitch 
which  the  fpe&ator  can  go  along  with,  mufi  He,  it 
is  evident,  in  certain  mediocrity.  If  the  paifion  is 
too  high,  or  if  it  is  too  low,  he  cannot  enter  into  it. 
Grief  and  refentment  for  private  misfortunes  and  in- 
juries may  eafily,  for  example,  be  too  high,  and  in 
the  greater  part  of  mankind  they  are  fo.  They 
may  likewife^  though  this  more  rarely  happens,  be 
too  low.  We  denominate  the  excefs,  weaknels  and 
fury  :  and  we  call  the  defect,  ftupidity,  infenfibility, 
and  want  of  fpirit.  We  can  enter  into  neither  of 
them,  but  are  aftoniihed  and  confounded  to  fee 
them. 

This  mediocrity,  however,  in  which  the  point  ot 
propriety  confifts,  is  different  in  different  paflions. 
it  is  high  in  ibme,  and  low  in  others  There  are 
Ibriie  pallions  which  it  is  indecent  to  exprefs  very 
Rrongly,  even  upon  thofe  occafions,  in  which  it  is 
D  acknowledged 


34  0/  Propriety.  Part  L 

acknowledged  that  we  cannot  avoid  feeling  them 
in  the  higheft  degree.  And  there  are  others  of 
which  the  flrongeft  expreflions  are  upon  many  oc- 
cafions  extremely  graceful,  even  though  the  paffions 
themfelves  do  noty  perhaps,  arife  fo  neceffarily. 
The  firft  are  thofe  pafTions  with  which,  for  certain 
reafons,  there  is  little  or  no  fympathy  :  the  fecond 
are  thofe  with  which,  for  other  reafons^  there  is  the 
greatefl.  And  if  we  confider  all  the  different  paf- 
fions  of  human  nature,  we  (hall  find  that  they  are 
regarded  as  decent,  or  indecent,  juft  in  proportion 
as  mankind  are  more  or  lefs  difpofed  to  iympathize 
with  them. 


CHAP.     I 

Of  the  paffions  which  take  their  origin  from  the  body. 


,i 


T  is  indecent  to  exprefs  any  flrong  degree  of 
thofe  pafTions  which  arife  from  a  certain  fituation  or 
difpofition  of  the  body  ;  becaufe  the  company,  not 
being  in  the  fame  difpofition,  cannot  be  expected 
to  fympathize  with  them.  Violent  hunger,  for  ex- 
ample, though  upon  many  occafions  not  only  na- 
tural, but  unavoidable^  is  always  indecent,  and  to 
eat  voracioufly  is  univerfally  regarded  as  a  piece  of 
ill  manners.  There  is,  however,  fome  degree  of 
fympathy,  even  with  hunger.  It  is  agreeable  to  fee 
our  companions  eat  with  a  good  appetite,  and  all 

expi^flions 


Sect.  2.  Of  P  R  O  F  R  I  E  t  k.  35 

expreffions  of  loathing  are  ofFenfive.  The  difpofi- 
tion  of  body  which  is  habitual  to  a  man  in  health, 
makes-  his  flomach  eafily  keep  time,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  fo  coarfe  an  expreflion,  with  the  one,  and 
not  with  the  other.  We  can  fympathlze  with  the 
diftrefs  which  exceffive  hunger  occafions  when  we 
read  the  defcription  of  it  in  the  journal  of  a  fiege, 
or  of  a  fea  voyage.  We  imagine  ourfelves  in  the 
fituation  of  the  fufferers,  and  thence  readily  con- 
ceive the  grief,  the  fear  and  conflernation,  which 
mufi  neceflarily  diftract  them.  We  feel,  ourfelves, 
fome  degree  of  thofe  pafliohs,  and  therefore  fym- 
pathize  with  them  :  but  as  we  do  not  grow  hungry 
by  reading  the  defcription,  we  cannot  properly, 
even  ill  this  cafe,  be  faid  to  fympathize  with  their 
hunger. 

It-  is  the  fame  cafe  with  the  pafllon  by  which  Na- 
ture unites  the  two  fexes.  Though  naturally  the 
moil  furious  of  all  pafi?ons,  all  ftrong  expreffions  of 
it  are  upon  every  occafion  indecent,  even  between 
perfons  in  whom  its  moll  complete  indulgence  is  ac- 
knowledged by  all  laws,  both  human  and  divine, 
to  be  perfectly  innocent.  There  feems,  however, 
to  be  fome  degree  of  fympathy  even  with  this  pa f- 
fion.  To  talk  to  a  woman  as  we  mould  to  a  man 
is  improper:  it  is  expected  that  their  company 
fhould  infpire  us  with  more  gaiety,  more  pleafantry, 
and  more  attention  •  and  an  intire  infenfibility  to 
the  fair  fex,  renders  a  man  contemptible  in  fome 
meafure  even  to  the  men. 

Such  is  our  averfion  for  all  the  appetites  which 

take  their  origin  from  the   body  :  all  llrong  expref- 

fions  of  them  are  ioathfome  and  difagreeable.     Ac- 

D  2  '  cording 


$6  0/ Propriety.  Parti. 

cording  to  fome  antient  philoiopners,  tnefe  are  the 
paflions  which  we  (hare  in  common  with  the  brutes, 
and  which  having  no  connexion  widi  the  charadter- 
iflical  qualities  of  human  nature,  are  upon  that  ac* 
count  beneath  its  dignity.  But  there  are  many 
other  paifions  which  we  fhare  in  common  with  the 
brutes,  fuch  as  refentment,  natural  affection,  even 
gratitude,  which  do  not,  upon  that  account,  ap- 
pear to  be  fo  brutal.  The  true  caufe  of  the  peculiar 
difguft  which  we  conceive  for  the  appetites  of  the 
body  when  we  fee  them  in  other  men,  is  that  we 
cannot  enter  into  them.  To  the  perfon  himfelf 
who  feels  them,  as  foon  as  they  are  gratified,  the 
object  ihit  excited  them  ceafes  to  be  agreeable  i 
even  its  prefence  often  becomes  ofFenfive  to  him ; 
he  looks  round  to  no  purpofe  for  the  charm  which 
tranfported  him  the  moment  before,  and  he  can 
now  as  little  enter  into  his  own  pafhon  as  another 
perfon.  When  we  have  dined,  we  order  the  co- 
vers to  be  removed  ;  and  we  mould  treat  in  the 
fame  manner  the  objects  of  the  mofl  ardent  and 
paflionate  defires,  if  they  were  the  objects  of  no 
other  paflions  but  thofe  which  take  their  origin  from 
the  body. 

In  the  command  of  fhofe  appetites  of  the  body 
confifls  that  virtue  which  is  properly  called  tempe- 
rance. To  reflrain  them  .within  thofe  bounds, 
which  regard  to"  health  and  fortune  prefcribes,  is  the 
part  of  prudence.  But  to  confine  them  within  thofe 
limits,  which  grace,  which  propriety,  which  de- 
licacy, and  modelly,  require,  is  the  office  of  tem- 
perance. 

2.  It  is  for  the  fame  reafon  that  to  cry  out  with 
bodily  pain,  how  intolerable  foever,  appears  always 

Humanly 


Sect.  2,  0/P|Of  riety.    .  37 

unmanly  and  unbecoming.  There  is,  however,  a 
good  deal  of  fympathy  even  with  bodily  pain.  If, 
as  has  already  been  obferved,  I  fee  a  flroke  aimed, 
and  juft  ready  to  fall  upon  the  leg  or  arm,  of  another 
perfon,  I  naturally  llirink  and  draw  back  my  own 
leg,  or  my  own  arm ;  and  when  it  does  fall,  I  feel 
it  in  fome  meafure,  and  am  hurt  by  it  as  well  as  the 
fufferer.  My  hurt,  however,  is,  no  doub^,  excef- 
fively  flight,  and,  upon  that  account,  if  he  makes 
any  violent  out-cry,  as  I  cannot  go  along  with  him, 
I  never  fail  to  defpife  him.  And  this  is  the  cafe  of 
all  the  pailions  which  take  their  origin  from  the  body : 
they  excite  either  no  fympathy  at  all,  or  fuch  a  de- 
gree of  it,  as  is  altogether  difproportioned  to  the 
violence  of  what  is  felt  by  the  fufterer. 

It  is  quite  otherwife  with  thofe  pailions  which  take 
their  origin  from  the  imagination.  The  frame  of 
my  body  can  be  but  little  arTecled  by  the  alterations 
which  are  brought  about  upon  that  of  my  compa- 
nion :  but  my  imagination  is  more  ductile,  and 
more  readily  afTumes,  if  I  may  fo^.  the  fhape  and 
configuration  of  the  imaginations  of  thofe  with 
whom  I  am  familiar.  A  difappointment  in  love, 
or  ambition,  will,  upon  this  account,  call  forth  more 
fympathy  than  the  greatefl  bodily  evil.  Thofe  paf- 
fions  ariie  altogether  from  the  imagination.  The 
perfon  who  has  loll  his  whole  fortune,  if  he  is  in 
health,  feels  nothing  in  his  body.  What  he  fufrers 
is  from  the  imagination  only,  which  reprefems  to 
him  the  lofs  of  his  dignity,  neglect  from  his  friends, 
contempt  from  his  enemies,  dependence,  want,  and 
mifery,  coming  faft  upon  him  ;  and  we  fympathize 
with  him  more  ftrongly  upon  this  account,  becaufe 
our  imaginations  can  more  readily  mould  themieives 
D  3  upon 


58  O/Propriety.  Part  I. 

upon  his  imagination,  than  bur  bodies   can  mould 
themfelves  upon  his  body. 

The  lofs  of  a  leg  may  generally  be  regarded  as  a 
more  real  calamity  than  the  lofs  of  a  miftrefs.  It 
would  be  a  ridiculous  tragedy,  however,  of  which 
the  cataflrophe  was  to  turn  upon  a  lofs  of  that  kind. 
A  misfortune  of  the  other  kind,  how  frivolous  fo- 
ever  it  may  appear  to  be,  has  given  occafion  to  ma- 
ny a  fine  one. 

Nothing  is  fo  loon  forgot  as  pain.  The  moment 
it  is  gone  the  whole  agony  of  it  is  over,  and  the 
thought  of  it  can  no  longer  give  us  any  fort  of  dis- 
turbance. We  or.rfeives  cannot  then  enter  into  the 
anxiety  and  anguim  which  we  had  before  conceived. 
An  unguarded  word  from  a  friend  will  occafion  a 
more  durable  uneafmefs.  The  agony  which  this 
creates  is  by  no  means  over  with  the  word.  What 
at  firft  difturbs  us  is  not  the  objecl;  of  the  fenfes, 
but  the  idea  of  the  imagination.  As  it  is  an  idea, 
therefore,  which  occafions  our  uneafinefs,  till  time 
and  other  accidents  have  in'  fome  meafure  effaced 
it  from  our  memory,  the  imagination  continues  to 
fret  and  rankle  within,  from  the  thought  of  it. 

Pain  never  calls  forth  any  very  lively  fympathv 
unlefs  it  is  accompanied  with  danger.  We  fympa- 
thize  with  the  fear,  though  not  with  the  agony  of 
the  fufferer.  Fear,  however,  is  a  paflion  derived 
altogether  from  the  imagination,  which  reprefents, 
with  an  uncertainty  and  flu&uatjon  that  mcreafes 
our  anxiety,  not  what  we  really  feel,  but  what  we 
may  hereafter  poifibly  fuffer.  The  gout  or  the 
toolh-ach,  though  exqujfitely  painful,    excite  very 

little 


gedt.  2.  0/  P  r  o  p  $  i  e  t  y.  39 

little  fympathy  j    more  dangerous  difeafes,  though 
accompanied  with  very  little  pain,  excite  the  high- 

Some  people  faint  and  grow  fick  at  the  fight  of 
a  chirurgical  operation,  and  that  bodily  pain  which 
is  occafioned  by  tearing  the  item,  feems,  in  them, 
to  excite  the  moil  excefiive  fympathy.  We  con- 
ceive in  a  much  more  lively  and  4iftin<^  manner, 
the  pain  which  proceeds  from  an  external  caufe,  that* 
we  do  that  which  arifes  from  an  internal  diforder. 
I  can  fcarce  form  an  idea  of  the  agonies  of  my 
neighbour  when  he  is  tortured  with  the  gout,  or  the 
ftone  ;  but  I  have  the  cleareft  conception  of  what 
he  muft  fuffer  from  an  incifion,  a  wound,  or  a  frac- 
ture. The  chief  caufe,  however,  why  fuch  obje&s 
produce  fuch  violent  effect  upon  us,  is  their  novelty. 
One  who  has  been  witnefs  to  a  dozen  difle&ions, 
and  as  many  amputations,  fees,  ever  after,  all  ope- 
rations of  this  kind  with  great  indifference,  and  of- 
ten with  perfect  inlenfibility.  Though  we  have 
read  or  feen  reprefented  more  than  live  hundred 
tragedies,  we  fnall  feldom  fefil  fo  entire  an  abatement 
of  our  fenfibility  to  the  object  which  they  reprefent 
to  us. 

In  fome  of  the  Greek  tragedies  there  is  an  attempt 
to  excite  companion,  by  the  reprefentation  of  the 
agonies  of  bodily  pain.  Phik>c~tetes  cries  out  and 
faints  from  the  extremity  of  his  fufferings.  Hip- 
polytus  and  Hercules  are  both  introduced  as  expir- 
ing under  the  fevereft  tortures,  which,  it  feerns, 
even  the  fortitude  of  Hercules  was  incapable  of  fup- 
porting.  In  all  theie  cafes,  however,  it  is  not  the 
pain  which  interefls  us,  but  fome  other  circumftance. 
D  4  It 


40  0/  P  r  o  p  r  i  e  t  Y,  Part  I. 

It  is  not  the  fore  foot,  but  the  folitude,  of  Philoo 
tetes  which  affefts  us,  and  diffufes  over  that  charm- 
ing tragedy,  that  romantic  wildnefs,  which  is  fo 
agreeable  to  the  imagination.  The  agonies  of  Her- 
cules and  Hippolytus  are  interefled  only  becaufe  we 
forefee  that  death  is  to  be  the  confequence.  If  thofe 
heroes  were  to  recover,  we  fhould  think  the  repre- 
fentation  of  their  fufFerings  perfectly  ridiculous. 
What  a  tragedy  would  that  be  of  which  the  diftrefs 
confifted  in  a  colic.  Yet  no  pain  is  more  exquifite. 
Thefe  attempts  to  excite  companion  by  the  repre- 
fentation  of  bodily  pain,  may  be  regarded  as  among 
the  greateft  breaches  of  decorum  of  which  the  Greek 
theatre  has  fet  the  example, 

The  little  fympathy  which  we  feel  with  bodily 
pain  is  the  foundation  of  the  propriety  of  conflancy 
and  patience  in  enduring  it.  The  man,  who  under 
the  feverefl  tortures  allows  no  weaknefs  to  efcape 
him,  vents  no  groan>  gives  way  to  no  paflion  which 
we  do  not  entirely  enter  into,  commands  our  high- 
eft  admiration.  His  firmnefs  enables  him  to  keep 
time  with  our  indifference  and  infenfibility.  We 
admire  and  entirely  go  along  with  the  magnanimous 
effort  which  he  makes  for  this  purpofe.  We  ap- 
prove of  his  behaviour,  and  from  our  experience  of 
the  common  weaknefs  of  human  nature,  we  are  fur- 
prifed,  and  wonder  how  he  fhould  be  able  to  aft  fo 
\as  to  deferve  approbation.  Approbation,  mixed 
and  animated  by  wonder  and  furprife,  conflitutes  the 
fentiment  which  is  properly  called  admiration,  of 
which,  applaufe  is  the  natural  exprefnon,  as  has.  al- 
ready been  obferved. 

C  H  A  P. 


Seel.  z.  O/Propriety.  a\ 


CHAP.    II. 

Of  thofe  pajfions  which  take  their  origin  from  a  particular 
turn  or  habit  of  the  imagination. 


E 


VEN  of  the  paflions  derived  from  the  imagi- 
nation, thofe  which  take  their  origin  from  a  peculiar 
turn  or  habit  it  has  acquired,  though  they  may  be 
acknowledged  to  be  perfectly  natural,  are,  however, 
but  little  fympathized  with.  The  imaginations  of 
mankind,  not  having  acquired  that  particular  turn, 
cannot  enter  into  them ;  and  fuch  pailions,  though 
they  may  be  allowed  to  be  almoft  unavoidable  in 
fome  part  of  life,  are  always  in  fome  meafure  ridi- 
culous. This  is  the  cafe  with  that  ftrong  attach- 
ment which  naturally  grows  up  between  two  perfons 
of  different  fexes,  who  have  long  fixed  their  thoughts 
upon  one  another.  Our  imagination  not  having  run 
in  the  fame  channel  with  that  of  the  lover,  we  can- 
not enter  into  the  eagernefs  of  his  emotions.  If 
our  friend  has  been  injured,  we  readily  fympathize 
with  his  refentment,  and  grow  angry  with  'the  very 
perfon  with  whom  he  is  angry.  If  he  has  received 
a  benefit,  we  readily  enter  into  his  gratitude,  and 
have  a  very  high  fenfe  of  the  merit  of  his  benefactor. 
But  if  he  is  in  love,  though  we  may  think  his  paf- 
fion  juft  as  reasonable  as  any  of  the  kind,  yet  we 
never  think  ourfelves  bound  to  conceive  a  paffion  of 
the  fame  kind,  and  for  the  fame  perfon  for  whom 
he  has  conceived  it.  The  -paiiion  appears  to  eve- 
ry body,  but  the  man  who  feels  it,  entirely  difpro- 

portioned 


££  O/Propriity.  Part  I. 

portioned  to  the  value  of  the  object;  and  love, 
though  it  is  pardoned  in  a  certain  age  becaufe  wc 
know  it  is  natural,  is  always  laughed  at,  becaufe  we 
cannot  enter  into  it,  All  ferious  and  ftrong  ex- 
preffions  of  it  appear  ridiculous  to  a  third  perfon ; 
and  though  a  lover  may  be  good  company  to  his 
miftrefs,  he  is  fo  to  nobody  elfe.  He  himfelf  is  fen- 
fible  of  this  ;  and  as  long  as.  he  continues  in  his  fober 
fenfes,  endeavours  to  treat  his  own  paifion  with  rail- 
lery and  ridicule.  It  is  the  only  ftyle  in  which  we 
care  to  hear  of  it;  becaufe  it  is  the  only  flyle  ir> 
which  we  ourfelves  are  dnpofed  to  talk  of  it.  We 
grow  weary  of  the  grave,  pedantic,  and  long-fen- 
tenced  love  of  Cowley  and  Propertius,  who  never 
have  done  with  exaggerating  the  violence  of  their 
attachments;  but  the  gaiety  of  Ovid,  and  the  gal- 
lantry of  Horace,  are  always  agreeable. 

But  though  we  feel  no  proper  rympathy  with  an 
attachment  of  this  kind,  though  we  never  approach 
even  in  imagination  towards  conceiving  a  pafilon 
for  that  particular  perfqn,  yet  as  we  either  have 
conceived,  oif  may  be  difpofed  to  conceive,  paflions 
of  the  fame  kind,  we  readily  enter  into  thofe  high 
hopes  of  happinefs  which  are  propofed  from  its  gra- 
tification, as  well  as  into  that  exquifite  diftrefs  which 
is  feared  from  its  4^aPP°>ntment-  ft  interefls  us 
not  as  a  paiVion,  but  as  a  fituation  that  gives  occafion 
to  other  paffions  which  intereil  us;  to  hope,  to  fear, 
and  to  diflrefs  of  every  kind :  in  the  fame  manner  as 
in  a  defcription  of  a  fea  voyage,  it  is  not  the  hunger 
which  interefls  us,  but  the  diilrefs  which  that  hunger 
occafions.  Though  we  do  not  properly  enter  into 
the  attachment  of  the  lover,  we  readily  go  along 
with  thofe  expeditions  of  romantic  happinefs  which 

he 


Seel.  2.  O/Propriet  y.  qg 

he  derives  from  it.  We  feel  how  natural  it  is  for 
the  mind,  in  a  certain  fituation,  relaxed  with  indo- 
lence, and  fatigued  with  the  violence  of  defire,  to 
long  for  ferenity  and  quiet,  to  hope  to  find  them  in 
the  gratification  of  that  paflion  which  diftra&s  it, 
and  to  frame  to  itfelf  the  idea  of  that  life  of  pafto- 
ral  tranquillity  and  retirement  which  the  elegant,  the 
tender,  and  the  paflionate  Tibullus  takes  fo  much 
pleafure  in  defcribing;  a  life  like  what  the  poets  de- 
fcribe  in  the  Fortunate  Iflands,  a  life  of  frrendfhip, 
liberty,  and  repofe ;  free  from  labour,  and  from 
care,  and  from  all  the  turbulent  paflions  which  attend 
them.  Even  fcenes  of  this  kind  intereft  us  rnoft 
when  they  are  painted  rather  as  what  is  hoped,  than 
as  what  is  enjoyed.  The  groflhefs  of  that  paflion. 
which  mixes  with,  and  is,  perhaps,  the  foundation 
of  love,  [difappears  when  its  gratification  is  far  off 
and  at  a  diftance;  but  renders  the  whole  offenfiye 
when  defcribed  as  what  is  immediately  pofiefled. 
The  happy  paflion,  upon  this  account,  interefls  us 
much  lefs  than  the  fearful  and  the  melancholy. 
We  tremble  for  whatever  can  difappoint  fuch  natu- 
ral and  agreeable  hopes :  and  thus  enter  into  all  the 
anxiety,  and  concern,  and  diftrefs  of  the  lover, 

Hence  it  is,  that,  in  fome  modern  tragedies  and 
romances,  this  paflion  appears  fo  wonderfully  inte- 
refling.  It  is  not  fo  much  the  love  of  Caftalk)  and 
Monimia  which  attaches  us  in  the  Orphan,  as  the  di- 
ftrefs which  that  love  occafions.  The  author  who 
mould  introduce  two  lovers,  in  a  fcene  of  perfect 
fecurity,  exprefling  their  mutual  fondnefs  for  one 
another,  would  excite  laughter,  and  not  fympathy. 
If  a  fcene  of  this  kind  is  ever  admitted  into  a  tra- 
gedy, it  is  always,  in  fome  meafure,  improper,  and 

is 


44  G/Propruty.  Parti. 

is  endured,  not  from  any  fympathy  with  the  paflion 
that  is  expreffed  in  it,  but  from  concern  for  the 
dangers  and  difficulties  with  which  the  audience 
forefee  that  its  gratification  is  likely  to  be  attended. 

The  referve  which  the  laws  of  fociety  impofe 
upon  the  fair  fex,  with  regard  to  this  weaknefs,  ren- 
ders it  more  peculiarly  diftrefsful  in  them,  and,  upon 
that  very  account,  more  deeply  interelling.  We 
are  charmed  with  the  love  of  Phaedra,  as  it  is  ex- 
preffed  in  the  French  tragedy  of  that  name,  not- 
withstanding all  the  exLravagance  and  guilt  which 
attends  it.  That  very  extravagance  and  guilt 
may  be  faid,  in  fame  meafure,  to  recommend  it  to 
us.  Her  fear,  her  fhame,  her  remorie,  her  horror, 
her  defpair,  become  thereby  more  natural  and  in- 
terefting.  All  the  fecondary  paiTions,  if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  call  them  fo,  which  arife  from  the  fitu- 
ation  of  love,  become  necelfarily  more  furious  and 
violent :  and  it  is  with  thefe  fecondary  pafiions  only 
that  we  can  properly  be  faid  to  fympathize. 

Of  all  the  paffions,  however,  which  are  fo  ex- 
travagantly difproportioned  to  the  value  of  their 
objects,  love  is  the  only  one  that  appears,  even  to 
the  weaken:  minds,  to  have  any  thing  in  it  that  is 
either  graceful  or  agreeable.  In  itfelf,  firft  of  all, 
though  it  may  be  ridiculous,  it  is  not  naturally 
odious  i  and  though  its  confequences  are  often  fatal 
and  dreadful,  its  intentions  are  feldom  mifchievous. 
And  then,  though  there  is  little  propriety  in  the 
paflion  itfeif,  there  is  a  good  deal  in  ibme  of  thofe 
which  always  accompany  it.  There  is  in  love  a 
flrong  mixture  of  humanity,  generality,  kindnefs, 
friendfhip,   eftecrn>   paiTions    with   which,    of   all 

others. 


Sect.  2.  Of  P r  o  £  r  i  e  f  y.  45 

others,  for  reafons  which  (hall  be  explained  imme- 
diately., we  have  the  greatefl  propenfity  to  fympa- 
thize,  even  notwithstanding  we  are  fenfible  that 
they  are*  in  Tome  rrieafure,  excefllve.  The  fympathy 
which  we  feel  with  them,  renders  the  paflion  which 
they  accompany  lefs  difagreeable^  and  fupports  it 
in  our  imagination,  notwithstanding  all  the  vices 
which  commonly  go  along  with  it;  though  in  the 
one  fex  it  neceifarily  leads  to  ruin  and  infamy;  and 
though  in  the  other,  where  it  is  apprehended  to  be 
leait  fatal,  it  is  almoft  always  attended  with  an  in- 
capacity for  labour,  a  neglect  of  duty,  a  contempt 
of  fame,  and  even  of  common  reputation.  Not- 
withflanding all  this,  the  degree  of  fenfibility  and 
generofity  with  which  it  is  fuppofed  to  be  accom- 
panied, renders  it  to  many  the  object  of  vanity; 
and  they  are  fond  of  appearing  capable  of  feeling 
what  would  do  them  no  honour  if  they  had  really- 
felt  it. 

It  is  for  a  reafbn  of  the  fame  kind,  that  a  certain 
referve  is  neceffary  when  we  talk  of  our  own  friends, 
our  own  fludies,  our  own  profefTions.  All  thefe  are 
objects  which  we  cannot  expect  mould  interefl  our 
companions  in  the  fame  degree  in  which  they  interefl 
Us.  And  it  is  for  want  of  this  referve,  that  the  one 
half  of  mankind  make  bad  company  to  the  other. 
A  philolbpher  is  company  to  a  philofopher  only;  1 
the  member  of  a  club,  to  his  own  little  knot  of 
.companions. 


CHAP, 


46  O/Propriety.  Part  I, 


CHAP.     Jit 

Of  the  Unfocial  pajfions. 


HERE  is  another  fet  of  paflions,"  which  though 
derived  from  the  imagination*  yet  before  we  can 
enter  into  them,  or  regard  them  as  graceful  or  be- 
coming, mufl  always  be  brought  down  to  a  pitch 
much  lower  than  that  to  which  undifciplined  na- 
ture would  raife  them.  Thefe  are  hatred  and  re- 
fentment,  with  all  their  different  modifications. 
With  regard  to  all  fuch  paflions,  our  fympathy  is 
divided  between  the  perfon  who  feels  them  and  the 
perfon  who  is  the  object  of  them.  The  interefls  of 
thefe  two  are  directly  oppofite.  What  our  fympa- 
thy with  the  perfon  who  feels  them  would  prompt 
us  to  wifh  for,  our  fellow-feeling  with  the  other 
Would  lead  us  to  fear;  As  they  are  both  men,  we 
are  concerned  for  both,  and  our  fear  for  what  the 
one  may  fuffer,  damps  our  refentment  for  what  the 
other  has  fuffered.  Our  fympathy,  therefore,  with 
the  man  who  has  received  the  provocation,  necefla- 
rily  falls  fhort  of  the  paflion  which  naturally  animates 
him,  not  only  upon  account  of  thofe  general  caufes 
which  render  all  fympathetic  pailions  inferior  to  the 
original  ones,  but^ipon  account  of  that  particular 
caufe  which  is  peculiar  to  itfelf,  our  oppofite  fympa- 
thy 


Sect.  2.  Of  P  r  o  p  &  t  e  t  y.  47 

thy  with  another  perfon.  Before  refentment,  there- 
fore, can  become  graceful  and  agreeable,  it  mult 
be  more  humbled  and  brought  down  below  that 
pitch  to  which  it  would  naturally  rife,  than  almoft 
any  other  paflion. 

Mankind,  at  the  fame  time,  have  a  very  flrong 
fenfe  of  the  injuries  that  are  done  to  another.  The 
villain,  in  a  tragedy  or  romance,  is  as  much  the  ob- 
ject of  our  indignation,  as  the  hero  is  that  of  our 
fympathy  and .  affection.  We  deteft  Iago  as  much 
as  we  efleem  Othello ;  and  delight  as  much  in  the 
punifhment  of  the  one,  as  we  are  grieved  at  the  di- 
ftrefs  of  the  other.  But  though  mankind  have  fo 
ftrong  a  fellow-feeling  with  the  injuries  that  are 
done  to  their  brethren,  they  do  not  always  re.fent 
them  the  more  that  the  fufferer  appears]  to  refent 
them.  Upon  moll:  occafions,  the  greater  his  pa- 
tience, his  mildnefs^  his  humanity,  provided  it  does 
not  appear  that  he  wants  fpirit,  or  that  fear  was  the 
motive  of  his  forbearance,  the  higher  the  refentment 
againfl  the  perfon  who  injured  him.  The  amiable- 
nefs  of  the  character  exafperates  their  fenfe  of  the 
atrocity  of  the  injury, 

Thefe  pallions,  however*  are  regarded  as  necefTary 
parts  of  the  character  of  human  nature.     A  perfon1 
becomes  contemptible  who  tamely  fits  flill,  and  fub-  , 
mits  to  infults,  without  attempting  either  to  repel  or 
to  revenge  them.     We  cannot  enter  into  his  indif- 
ference and  mfeniibility :  we  call  his  behaviour  mean- 
fpiritednefs,  and  are  as  really  provoked  by  it  as  b  v 
the  infolence  of  his  adverfary.     Even  the  mob  r^e 
enraged  to  fee  any  man  fubmit  patiently  to  affrc  cits 
and  ill  ufage.     They  defire  to  fee  this  infolence   re- 
fen  .ted-. 


Of  Propriety.  Part  I. 

faited,  and  refented  by  the  perfon  who  fuffers  from 
it.  They  cry  to  him  with  fury,  to  defend,  or  to  re- 
venge himfelf.  If  his  indignation  rouzes  at  laft, 
they  heartily  applaud,  and  fympathize  with  it.  It 
enlivens  their  own  indignation  againfl  his  enemy, 
■whom  they  rejoice  to  fee  him  attack  in  turn,  and 
are  as  really  gratified  by  his  revenge,  provided  it  is 
Dot  immoderate,  as  if  the  injury  had  been  done  to 
themfelves. 

But  though  the  utility  of  thofe  paffions  to  the  in^ 
dividual,  by  rendering  it  dangerous  to  infult  or  in- 
jure him,  be  acknowledged;  and  though  their  utility 
to  the  public,  as  the  guardians  of  juftice,  and  of  the 
equality  of  its  adminiftration,  be  not  lefs  confider- 
able,  as  mail  be  fhewn  hereafter-,  yet  there  is  flill 
fomething  difagreeable  in  the  paffions  themfelves, 
which  makes  the  appearance  of  them  in  other  men 
the  natural  objed  of  cur  avernon.  The  expreffion 
of  anger  towards  any  body  prefent,  if  it  exceeds  a 
bare  intimation  that  we  are  fenfible  of  his  ill  ufage, 
is  regarded  not  only  as  an  infult  to  that  particular 
perfon,  but  as  a  rudenefs  to  the  whole  company. 
Refpedt  for  them  ought  to  have  retrained  us  from 
giving  way  to  fo  boifterous  and  offenfive  an  emotion. 
It  is  the  remote  effects  of  thefe  paffions  which  are 
agreeable;  the  immediate  effe&s  are  mifchief  to 
the  perfon  againft  whom  they  are  directed.  But  it 
\s  the  immediate,  and  not  the  remote  effects  of  ob- 
jects which  render  them  agreeable  or  diiagreeable 
,to  the  imagination.  A  prifon  is  certainly  more 
ufeful  to  the  public  than  a  palace;  and  the  perfon 
wiHo  founds  the  one  is  generally  directed  by  a  much 
jufler  fpirit  of  p&triotifm,  than  he  who  builds  the 
other.     Eur  the  immediate  effects  of  a  prrfon,  the 

confinement 


Sect.  £.  Of  F  R  o  p  ,r  i  e  t  Y.  j& 

confinement  of  the  wretches  (hut  up  in  it,  are  dif- 
agreeable ;  and  the  imagination  either  does  not  take 
time  to  trace  out  the  remote  ones,  or  fees  them  at 
too  great  a  diflance  to  be  much  affected  by  them. 
A  prifon,  therefore,  will  always    be  a  difagreeable 
object-  and  the  fitter  it  is  for  the  purpofe  for  which 
it  was  intended,  it  will  be  the  more  fo.     A  palace, 
on  the  contrary,  will  always  be  agreeable  •   yet  its 
remote  effects  may  often  be  inconvenient  to  the 
public.     It  may  ferve  to  promote  luxury,  and  fet 
the  example  of  the  diffolution  of  manners.     Its  im- 
mediate effects,  however,  the  conveniency,  the  plea- 
fure,  and  the  gaiety  of  the  people  who  live  in  it, 
being  all  agreeable,  and  fuggefting  to  the  imagi- 
nation a  thoufand  agreeable  ideas,  that  faculty  ge- 
nerally refts  upon  them,  and  feldom  goes  further 
in  tracing  its  more  diflant  confequences.     Trophies 
of  the  inftruments  of  mufic  or  of  agriculture,   imi- 
tated in  painting  or  in  flucco,  make  a  common  and 
an  agreeable  ornament  of  our  halls  and  dining-rooms. 
A  trophy  of  the  fame  kind,  compofed  of  the  inftru- 
ments of  furgery,   of  diiiecting   and    amputation- 
knives,  of  faws  for  cutting  the  bones,  of  trepanning 
inftruments,  &c.  would  be  abfurd    and   mocking. 
Inftruments  of  furgery,  however,  are  always  more 
finely  polilhed,  and  generally  more  nicely  adapted 
to  the  purpofes  for  which  they  are  intended,   than 
inftruments  of  agriculture.     The  remote  effedts  of 
them  too,  the  health  of  the  patient,  is  agreeable, 
yet  as  the  immediate  effect  of  them  is  pain  and  fuf- 
fering,  the  fight  of  them  always  difpleafes  us.     In- 
ftruments of  war  are  agreeable,  though  their  imme- 
diate effect  may  feeixi  to  be  in  the  fame  manner  pain 
and  fullering.     But  then  it  is  the  pain  and  fuffering 
of  our  enemies,  with  whom  we  have  no  fympathy. 

E  With 


$o  O/Propriety.'  Part  I. 

With  regard  to  us,  they  are  immediately  connected 
with  the  agreeable  ideas  of  courage,  victory,  and 
honour.  They  are  themfelves,  therefore,  fuppofed 
to  make  one  of  the  noblelt  parts  of  drefs,  and  the 
imitation  of  them  one  of  the  fineft  ornaments  of 
architecture.  :  It  is  the  fame  cafe  with  the  qualities 
of  the  mind.  The  ancient  ftoics  were  of  opinion, 
that  as  the  world  was  governed  by  the  all-ruling 
providence  of  a  wife,  powerful,  and  good  God, 
every  Jingle  event  ought  to  be  regarded,  as  making 
a  necelfary  part  of  the  plan  of  the  univerfe,  and  as 
tending  to  promote  the  general  order  and  happinefs 
of  the  whole:  that  the  vices  and  follies  of  mankind, 
therefore,  made  as  neceffary  a  part  of  this  plan  as 
their  wifdom  or  their  virtue;  and  by  that  eternal 
art  which  educes  good  from  ill,  were  made  to  tend 
equally  to  the  profperity  and  perfection  of  the  great 
fyftem  of  nature.  No  fpeculation  of  this  kind, 
however,  how  deeply  foever  it  might  be  rooted  iti 
the  mind,  could  diminim  our  natural  abhorrence  for 
vice,  whofe  immediate  effects  are  fo  destructive,  and 
whofe  remote  ones  are  too  diftant  to  be  traced  by 
the  imagination. 

It  is  the  fame  cafe  with  thofe  paffions  we  have 
been  juft  now  confidering.  Their  immediate  effects 
are  fo  difagreeable,  that  even  when  they  are  molt 
juftly  provoked,  there  is  itill  fomething  about  them 
which,  difgufts  us.  Thefe,  therefore,  are  the  only 
paffions  of  which  the  expreflions,  as  I  formerly  ob~ 
ferved,  do  not  difpofe  and  prepare  us  to  fympathize 
with  them,  before  we  are  informed  of  the  caufe 
which  excites  them.  The  plaintive  voice  of  mifery, 
when  heard  at  a*  diflance,  will  not  allow  us  to  be 
indifferent  about  the  perfon  from  whom  it  comes. 

As 


Seel.  2.  O/Propriet  y.  gx 

As  foon  as  it  ftrikes  our  ear,  it  interests  us  in  his  for- 
tune, and,  if  continued,  forces  us  almoft  involun- 
tarily to  fly  to  his  affiftance.     The  fight  of  a  fmiling 
countenance,  in  the  fame  manner,  elevates  even  the 
penfive  into  that  gay  and  airy  mood,  which  difpofes 
him  to  fympathize  with,  and  (hare  the  joy  which  it 
exprelfes;  and  he  feels  his  heart,  which  with  thought 
and  care  was  before  that  fhrunk  and  depreffed,  in- 
ftantly  expanded  and  elated.     But  it  is  quite  other- 
wife  with  the  expreffions  of  hatred  and  refentment. 
The  hoarfe,    boiflerous,    and    difcordant   voice    of 
anger,  when  heard  at  a  diflance,   infpires  us  either 
with  fear  or  averfion,     We  do  not  fly  towards  it 
as  to  one  who  cries  out  with  pain  and  agony.     Wo- 
men, and  men   of  weak  nerves,  tremble  and  are. 
overcome  with  fear,  though  fenfible  that  themfelves 
are  not  the  -objects  of  the  anger.     They  conceive 
fear,  however,    by  putting  themfelves  in  the  filia- 
tion of  the  perfon  who  is  fo.     Even  thofe  of  flouter 
hearts  are  diflurbed ;  not  indeed  enough  to  make 
them  afraid,  but  enough  to  make  them  angry ;  for 
anger  is  the  paffion  which  they  would  feel  in  the  fili- 
ation- of  the  other  perfon.     It  is  the  fame  cafe  with 
hatred.     Mere  expreffions  of  fpite  infpire  it  a^ainfl 
no  body,  but  the  man  who  ufes  them.     Both  thefe 
pafiions  are  by  nature  the    objects  of  our  averfion. 
Their  difagreeable  and  boiflerous  appearance  never 
excites,  never  prepares,  and  often  diflurbs  our  fyrri- 
pathy.     Grief  does   not    more    powerfully   engage 
and  attract  us  to  the  perfon  in  whom  we  obferve  it, 
than   thefe,    while  we  are  ignorant  of  their  caufe, 
difguft  and  detach  us  from  him.     It  was,  it  feems, 
the  intention  of  Nature,  that  thofe  rougher  and  more 
unenviable   emotions,    which  drive  men   from  one 
another,  mould  be  lefs  eafily  and  mere  rarely  com- 
municated. 

E  z  When 


5*  Of  Pr  o  r  r  i  e  t  Y>  Part  L 

When  inufic  imitates  the  modulations  of  grief  or 
joy,  it  either  actually  infpires  us  with  thofe  pallions, 
or  at  leaft  puts  us  in  the  mood  which  difpofes  us  to 
conceive  them.  But  when  it  imitates  the  notes  of 
anger,  it  infpires  us  with  fear.  Joy,  grief,  love, 
admiration,  devotion,  are  all  of  them  pafhons  which 
are  naturally  mufical.  Their  natural  tones  are  all 
foft,  clear,  and  melodious  •>  and  they  naturally  ex- 
prefs  themfelves  in  periods  which  are  diftinguilhed 
by  regular  paufes,  and  which  upon  that  account  are 
eafily  adapted  to  the  regular  returns  of  the  correspon- 
dent airs  of  a  tune.  The  voice  of  anger,  on  the 
contrary,  and  of  all  the  paiTions  which  are  akin  to 
it,  is  harm  and  difcordant.  It  periods  too  are  all 
irregular,  fometimes  very  long,  and  fometimes 
very  fliort,  and  diftinguifhed  by  no  regular  paufes. 
It  is  with  difficulty,  therefore,  that  mufic  can  imitate 
any  of  thofe  pafiions;  and  the  mufic '  which  does 
imitate  them  is  not  the  mofl  agreeable.  A  whole 
entertainment  may  confiir,  without  any  impropriety, 
of  the  imitation  of  the  focial  and  agreeable  pallions. 
It  would  be  a  flrange  entertainment  which  confuted 
altogether  of  the  imitations  of  hatred  and  refent- 
menu 

If  thofe  paiTions  are  difagreeable  to  the  fpectator, 
they  are  not  lefs  fo  to  the  perfon  who  feels  them. 
Hatred  and  anger  are  the  greateft  poifon  to  the 
happinefs-of  a  good  mind.  There  is,  in  the  very 
feeling  of  thofe  pallions,  fomething  harfh,  jarring, 
and  convulfive,  fomething  that  tears  and  diffracts 
the  breaft,  and  is  altogether  defcructive  of  that  com- 
pofure  and  tranquillity  of  mind  which  is  fo  neceffary 
to  happinefs,  and  which  is.  bed  promoted  by  the 

contrary 


Sect.  2.  O/Propriety.  53 

contrary  paflions  of  gratitude  and  love.  It  is  not 
the  value  of  what  they  lofe  by  the  perfidy  and  in- 
gratitude of  thofe  they  live  with,  which  the  gene- 
rous and  humane  are  moft  apt  to  regret.  Whatever 
they  may  have  loft,  they  can  generally  be  very 
happy  without  it.  What  moft  diilurbs  them  is  the 
idea  of  perfidy  and  ingratitude  exercifed  towards 
themfelves;  and  the  difcordant  and  difagreeable 
paflions  which  this  excites,  conftitutes,  in  their  own 
opinion,  the  chief  part  of  the  injury  which  they 
furler. 

How  many  things  are  requifite  to  render  the 
gratification  of  refentment  compleatly  agreeable, 
and  to  make  the  fpectator  thoroughly  fympathize 
with  our  revenge?  The  provocation  mutt  firft  of 
all  be  fuch  that  we  mould  become  contemptible,  and 
be  expofed  to  perpetual  infults,  if  we  did  not,  in 
fome  meafure,  refent  it.  Smaller  offences  are  al- 
ways better  neglected ;  nor  is  there  any  thing  more 
defpicable  than  that  froward  and  captious  humour 
which  takes  fire  upon  every  flight  occafion  of  quar- 
rel. We  mould  refent  more  from  a  Cenk  of  the 
propriety  of  refentment,  from  a  fenfe  that  mankind 
expect  and  require  it  of  us,  than  becaufe  we  feel 
in  ourfehes  the  furies  of  that  difagreeable  paffion. 
There  is  no  paiiion,  of  which  the  human  mind  is 
capable,  concerning  whofe  juftnefs  we  ought  to  be 
fo  doubtful,  concerning  whofe  indulgence  we  ought 
fo  carefully  to  confult  our  natural  fenfe  of  propriety, 
or  fo  diligently  to  confider  what  will  be  the  fenti- 
ments  of  the  impartial  fpectator.  Magnanimity,  or 
a  regard  to  maintain  our  own  rank  and  dignity  in 
fociety,-.  is  the  only  motive  which  can  ennoble  the 
expreiiions  of  this  difagreeable  pafiion.     Tins  mo- 

E  3  tiK 


54  Of  Propriety.  Parti. 

live  muft  characterize  our  whole  ftile  and  deport- 
ment. Thefe  mull  be  plain,  open,  and  direct; 
determined  without  pofitivenefs,  and  elevated  with- 
out infolence;  not  only  free  from  petulance  and 
low  fcurrility,  but  generous,  candid,  and  full  of  all 
proper  regards,  even  for  the  perfon  who  has  offend- 
ed us.  It  muft  appear,  in  lhort,  from  our  whole 
manner,  without  our  labouring  affectedly  to  exprefs 
it,  thatpaflion  has  not  extinguifhed  our  humanity; 
and  that  if  we  yield  to  the  dictates  of  revenge,  it  is 
with  reluctance,  from  neceiTity,  and  in  confequence 
of  great  and  repeated  provocations.  When  refent- 
ment  is  guarded  and  qualified  in  this  manner,  it  may 
be  admitted  to  be  even  generous  and  noble. 


CHAP.      IV, 

Of  the  focial  pajfiow, 


JLjl  S  it  is  a  divided  fympathy  which  renders  the 
whole  fet  of  pailions  juft  now  mentioned,  upon 
moft  occafions,  fo  ungraceful  and  difagreeable ;  fo 
there  is  another  fet  oppofite  to  thefe,  which  a  re- 
doubled fympathy  renders  almoft' always  peculiarly 
agreeable  and  becoming.  Generofity,  humanity, 
kindnefs,  companion,  mutual  friend  (hip  and  eiteem, 
all  the  focial  and  benevolent  affections,  when  ex-. 
prefTed  in  the  countenance  or  behaviour,  even  to- 
wards 


Sect.  2.  O/Proprie^ty.  55 

wards  thofe  who  are  peculiarly  connected  with  our- 
felves,  pleafe  the  indifferent  fpectator  upon  almoft 
every  occafion.     Hisfympathy  with  the  perfon  who 
feels  thofe  palfions,  exactly  coincides  with  his  con- 
cern for  the  perfon  who  is  the  object  of  them.     The 
intereft,   which,  as  a  man,  he  is  obliged  to  take  in 
the  happinefs  of  this  laft,   enlivens  his  fellow-feelino- 
with  the  fentiments  of  the  other,  whofe  emotions  are 
employed  about  the  fame  object.     We  have  always, 
therefore,    the  ftrongeft   difpofition  to   fympathize 
with   the  benevolent   affections.     They  appear  in 
every  refpect  agreeable  to  us.     We  enter  into  the 
fatisfaction  both  of  the  perfon  who  feels  them    and 
of  the  perfon  who  is  the  object  of  them.     For  as  to 
to  be  the  object  of  hatred  and  indignation  gives  more 
pain  than  ail  the  evils  which  a  brave  man  can  fear 
from  his  enemies;    fo  there  is  a  fatisfaction  in  the 
c;onfcioufnefs  of  being  beloved,  which,  to  a  perfon 
of  dejicacy  and  .fenfi.bility,   is  of  more  importance 
to  happinefs  than  all  the  advantage  which  he  can 
expect  to  derive  from  it.     What  character  is  fo  de- 
tectable as  that  of  one  who  takes  pleafure  to  fow 
diffenfion  among  friends,  and  to  turn  their  mod  ten- 
der love  into  mortal  hatred  ?  Yet  wherein  does  the 
atrocity  of  this  fo  much  abhorred  injury  conilft? 
Is  it  in  depriving  them  of  the  frivolous  good  offices 
which  had  their  friendfhip  continued,  they  mio-ht 
have  expected  from  one  another  ?  It  is  in  depriving 
them  of  that  friendfhip  itfejf,  in  robbing  them  of 
each  others  affections,  from  which  both  derived  fo 
much  fatisfaction ;  it  is  in  diiturbing  the  harmony  of 
their  hearts,  and  putting  an  end  to  that  happy  com- 
merce which  had   before  fubfifted   between  them. 
Thefe  affections,  that  harmony,  this  commerce,  are 
felt,  not  only  by  the  tender  and  the  delicate,  but  by 

E  4  the 


$6  O/Propristy,.  Part  I. 

the  rudell  vulgar  of  mankind,  to  be  of  more  impor- 
tance to  happinefs  than  all  the  little  fervices  which 
could  be  expected  to  flow  from  them. 

The  fentiment  of  love  is,  in  itfelf,  agreeable  to 
the  perfon  who  feels  it.  It  fooths  and  compotes 
the  breaft,  teems  to  favour  the  vital  motions,  and 
to  promote  the  healthful  {late  of  the  human  confti- 
tution-  and  it  is  rendered  ilill  more  delightful  by 
the  ccnfcioufnefs  of  the  gratitude  and  fati'sf action 
which  it  mull  excite  in  him  who  is  the  object  of  it. 
Their  mutual  regard  renders  them  happy  in  one 
another,  and  fympathy,  with  this  mutual  regard ] 
makes  them  agreeable  to  every  other  perfon/  With 
what  pleafure  do  we  look  upon  a  family,  through 
the  whole  of  which  reign  mutual  love  and  efleemr 
where  the  parents  and  children  are  companions  for 
one  another,  without  any  other  difference  than  what 
is  made  by  refpectful  affection  on  the  one  fide,  and 
kind  indulgence  on  the  other;  where  freedom  and 
fondnefs,  mutual  raillery,  and  mutual  kindnefs, 
fhow  that  no  oppofition  of  intereil  divides  the  bro- 
thers, nor  any  rivalihip  of  favour  fets  the  fillers  at 
variance,  and  where  every  thing  prefents  us  with 
the  idea  of  peace,  chearfulnefs,  harmony,  and  con- 
tentment ?  On  the  contrary,  how  uneafy  are  we 
made  when  we  go  into  a  houfe  in  which  jarring 
contention  fets  one  half  of  thofe  who  dwt\i  in  it 
asainfl  the  other:  where  amidft  affected  fmooth- 
nefs  and  complaifance,  fufpi clous  looks  and  iudden 
Harts  of  paflion  betray  the  mutual  jeajoufies  which 
burn  within  them,  and  which  are  every  moment 
ready  to  burfl  out  through  all  the  reflraints  which 
the  prefence  of  the  company  impofes  ? 

Thofe 


Sedt  2.  0/  Propriety.  57 

Thofe  amiable  paflions,  even  when  they  are  ac- 
knowledged to  be  exceiTive,  are  never  regarded  with 
averfion.  There  is  fomething  agreeable  even  in  the 
weaknefs  of  friendfhip  and  humanity.  The  too 
tender  mother,  the  too  indulgent  father,  the  too  ge- 
nerous and  afTe&ionate  friend,  may  fometimes,  per- 
haps, on  account  of  the  foftnefs  of  their  natures,  be 
looked  upon  with  a  fpecies  of  pity,  In  which,  how- 
ever, there  is  a  mixture  of  love,  but  can  never  be 
regarded  with  hatred  and  averfion,  nor  even  with 
contempt,  unlefs  by  the  moil  brutal  and  worthlefs 
of  mankind:  It  is  always  with  concern,  with  fym- 
pathy  and  kindnefs,  that  we  blame  them  for  the  ex- 
travagance of  their  attachment.  There  is  a  help- 
lefTnefs  in  the  character  of  extreme  humanity  which 
more  than  any  thing  interefls  our  pity.  There  is 
nothing  in  itfelf  which  renders  it  either  ungraceful 
or  difagreeable.  We  only  regret  that  it  is  unfit  for 
the  world,  becaufe  the  world  is  unworthy  of  it,  and 
becaufe  it  muft  expofe  the  perfon  who  is  endowed 
with  it  as  a  prey  to  the  perfidy  and  ingratitude  of 
infmuating  falfhood,  and  to  a  thcufand  pains  and 
uneafinenes,  which,  of  all  men,  he  the  ieaft  de- 
ferves  to  feel,  and  which  generally  too  he  is,  of  all 
men,  the  leaft  capable  of  fupporting.  It  is  quite 
otherwife  with  hatred  and  refentment.  Too  violent 
a  propenfity  to  thofe  deteftable  pafiions,  renders  $ 
perfon  the  object  of  univerfal  dread  and  abhorrence, 
who,  like  a  wild  beaft,  ought,  we  think,  to  be  hunt- 
ed out  of  all  civil  focietv. 


CHA  P 


58  0/P  ropriety.  Part  I. 


CHAP.    V. 

Of  the  felfijb  pa/fans. 


B 


ESIDES  thofe  two  oppofite  fets  of  paffions, 
the  focial  and  unfocial,  there  is  another  which  holds 
a  fort  of  middle  place  between  them  ;  is  never  either 
fo  graceful  as  is  fometimes  the  one  fet,  nor  is  ever 
'To  odious  as  is  fometimes  the  other.  Grief  and 
joy,  when  conceived  upon  account  of  our  own  pri- 
vate good  or  bad  fortune,  constitute  this  third  fet  of 
paflions.  Even  when  exceffive,  they  are  never  fo 
difagreeable  as  exceflive  refentment,  becaufe  no  op- 
pofite f  mpathy  can  ever  intereft  us  againft  them  : 
and  when  mod  fuitable  to  their  objects  they  are  ne- 
ver fo  agreeable  as  impartial  humanity  and  juft  be- 
nevolence; becaufe  no  double  fy  mpathy  can  ever 
intereft  us  for  them.  There  is,  however,  this  dif- 
ference between  grief  and  joy,  that  we  are  generally 
moil:  difpofed  to  fympathize  with  fmall  joys  and.great 
forrows.  The  man,  who,  by  fome  fudden  revolu- 
tion of  fortune,  is  lifted  up  all  at  once  into  a  condi- 
tion of  life,  greatly  above  what  he  had  formerly  liv- 
ed in,  may  be  aiTured  that  the  congratulations  of  his 
beft  friends  are  not  all  of  them  perfectly  fincere. 
An  upftart,  though  of  the  greateft*  merit,  is  gene- 
rally difagreeable,  and  a  fentiment  of  envy  com- 
monly prevents  u§  from  heartily  fympathizing  with 
hisjoy.     If  he  has  any  judgment  he  is  fenfible  of 

this, 


Sect.  2,  O/Propriety,  $$ 

this,  and  inftead  of  appearing  to  be  elated  with  his 
good  fortune,  he  endeavours,  as  much  as  he  can, 
to  fmother  his  joy,  and  keep  down  that  elevation  of 
mind  with  which  his  new  circumftances  naturally  in- 
fpire  him.  He  affects  the  fame  plainnefs  of  drefs, 
and  the  fame  modefty  of  behaviour,  which  became 
him  in  his  former  ftation..  He  redoubles  his  atten- 
tion to  his  old  friends,  and  endeavours  more  than 
ever  to  be  humble,  afliduous,  and  complaifant.  And 
this  is  the  behaviour  which  in  his  fituation  we  moil 
approve  of  -,  becaufe  we  expect,  it  feems,  that  he 
mould  have  more  fympathy  v/ith  our  envy  and  aver- 
fion  to  his  happinefs,  than  we  have  with  his  happn 
nefs.  It  is  feldom  that  with  all  this  he  fucceeds. 
We  fufpect  the  fincerity  of  his  humility,  and  he 
grows  weary  of  this  conflraint.  In  a  little  time, 
therefore,  he  generally  leaves  all  his  old  friends  be- 
hind him,  fome  of  the  meaneft  of  them  excepted, 
who  may,  perhaps,  condefcend  to  become  his  de- 
pendents :  nor  does  he  always  acquire  any  new  ones; 
the  pride  of  his  new  connections  is  as  much  affront- 
ed at  rinding  him  their  equal,  as  that  of  his  old  ones 
had  been  by  his  becoming  their  fuperior  :  and  it  re- 
quires the  molt  obftinate  and  perfevering  modefty 
to  atone  for  this  mortification  to  either.  He  gene- 
rally grows  weary  too  foon,  and  is  provoked,  by 
the  fullen  and  fufpicious  pride  of  the  one,  and  by 
the  faucy  contempt  of  the  other,  to  treat  the  firft 
with  neglect,  and  the  fecond  with  petulance,  till  at 
lafl  he  grows  habitually  infolent,  and  forfeits  the 
eiteem  of  all.  If  the  chief  part  of  human  happi- 
nefs arifes  from  the  confcioufnefs  of  being  beloved, 
as  I  believe  it  does,  thofe  fudden  changes  of  for- 
tune feldom  contribute  much  to  happinefs.  He  is 
happiefi  who  advances  more  gradually  to  greatnefs, 

whom 


6o  O/Prgpriety,  ;         Part  I. 

whom  the  public  deftines  to  every  flep  of  his  pre- 
ferment long  before  he  arrives  at  it,  in  whom,  upon 
that  account,  when  it  comes,  it  can  excite  no  ex- 
travagant joy,  and  with  regard  to  whom  it  cannot 
reafonably  create  either  any  jealoufy  in  thofe  he  over- 
takes, or  any  envy  in  thofe  he  leaves  behind. 

Mankind,  however,  more  readily  fympathize 
with  thofe  fmallerjoys  which  flow  from  lefs  impor- 
tant caufes.  It  is  decent  to  be  humble  amidft  great 
profperity ;  but  we  can  fcarce  exprefs  too  much  fa- 
tisfaclion  in  all  the  little  occurrences  of  common 
life,  in  the  company  with  which  we  fpent  the  even- 
ing laft  night,  in  the  entertainment  that  was  let  be- 
fore us,  in  what  was  faid  and  what  was  done,  in 
all  the  little  incidents  of  the  prefent  converfation, 
and  in  all  thofe  frivolous  nothings  which  fill  up  the 
void  of  human  life.  Nothing  is  more  graceful  than 
habitual  chearfulnefs,  which  is  always  founded  up- 
on a  peculiar  relilh  for  all  the  little  pleafures  which 
common  occurrences  afford.  We  readily  fympa- 
thize with  it :  it  infpires  us  with  the  fame  joy,  and 
makes  every  trifle  turn  up  to  us  in  the  fame  agree- 
able afpec\  in  which  it  prefents  itfelf  to  the  perfon 
endowed  with  this  happy  difpofition.  Hence  it  is 
that  youth,  the  feafon  of  gaiety,  io  eafily  engages 
our  affeclions.  That  propensity  to  joy  which  feems 
even  to  animate  the  bloom,  and  to  fparkle  from  the 
eyes  of  youth  and  beauty,  though  in  a  perfon  of 
the  fame  fex,  exalts,  even  the  aged,  to  a  more 
joyous  mood  than  ordinary.  They  forget,  for  a 
time,  their  infirmities,  and  abandon-  themielves  to 
thofe  agreeable  ideas  and  emotions  to  which  they 
have  long  been  flrangers,  but  which,  •  ben  the  pre- 


v 


Se&.  2.  O/Propriety.  fo 

fence  of  fo  much  happinefs  recalls  tHem  to  their 
bread,  take  their  place  there,  like  old  acquaintance, 
from  whom  they  are  forry  to  have  ever  been  parted, 
and  whom  they  embrace  more  heartily  upon  ac- 
count of  this  long  feparation. 

It  is  quite  otherwife  with  grief.  Small  vexations 
excite  no  Sympathy,  but  deep  affliction  calls  forth 
the  greater!:.  The  man  who  is  made  uneafy  by  eve- 
ry little  difagreeable  incident,  who  is  hurt  if  either 
the  cook  or  the  butler  have  failed  in  the  leail  article 
of  their  duty,  who  feels  every  defect  in  the  higher! 
ceremonial  of  poiitenefs,  whether  it  be  (hewn  to 
himfeif  or  to  any  other  perfon,  who  takes  it  amifs 
that  his  intimate  friend  did  not  bid  him  good-mor- 
ig.v  when  they  met  in  the  forenoon,  and  that  his 
brother  hummed  a  tune  all  the  time  he  himfeif  was 
telling  a  flory ;  who  is  put  out  of  humour  by  the 
badnefs  of  the  weather  when  in  the  country,  by  the 
badnefs  of  the  roads  when  upon  a  journey,  and  by 
the  want  of  company,  and  dullnefs  of  all  public 
diverfions  when  in  town ;  fuch  a  perfon,  I  fay, 
though  he  fhould  have  fome  reafon,  will  feldom 
meet  with  much  fympathy.  Joy  is  a  pleafant  emo- 
tion, and  we  gladly  abandon  ourfelves  to  it  upon 
the  flighted  occafion.  We  readily,  therefore,  fym- 
pathize  with  it  in  others,  whenever  we  are  not  pre- 
judiced by  envy.  But  grief  is  painful,  and  the 
mind,  even  when  it  is  our  own  misfortune,  natu- 
rally refifls  and  recoils  from  it.  We  would  endea- 
vour, either  not  to  conceive  it  at  all,  or  to  fliake  it 
off  as  foon  as  we  have  conceived  it.  Our  averilon 
to  grief  will  not,  indeed,  always  hinder  us  from 
conceiving  it  in  our  own  cafe  upon  very  trifling  oc- 
casions, 


62  Of  Pr  o  p  r  i  e  t  y.  Part  I. 

cafions,  but  it  conftantly  prevents  us  from  fympa- 
thizing  with  it  in  others  when  excited  by  the  like 
frivolous  caufes:  for  our  fympathetic  paflions  are 
always  lefs  irrefiftible  than  our  original  ones.  There 
is,  befides,  a  malice  in  mankind,  which  not  only 
prevents  all  fympathy  with  little  uneafmeifes,  but 
renders  them  in  fome  meafure  diverting.  Hence 
the  delight  which  we  all  take  in  raillery,  and  in  the 
fmall  vexation  which  we  obferve  in  our  compa- 
nion, when  he  is  pufhed,  and  urged,  and  teafed 
upon  all  fides.  Men  of  the  moft  ordinary  good- 
breeding  diiTemble  the  pain  which  any  little  inci- 
dent may  give  them ;  and  thole  who  are  more  tho- 
roughly formed  to  fociety,  turn,  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, all  fuch'  incidents  into  raillery,  as  they  know 
their  companions  will  do  for  them.  The  habit 
which  a  man,  who  lives  in  the  world,  has  acquired 
of  confidering  how  every  thing  that  concerns  him- 
felf  will  appear  to  others,  makes  thofe  frivolous  ca- 
lamities turn  up  in  the  fame  ridiculous  light  to  him, 
in  which  he  knows  they  will  certainly  be  confidered 
by  them. 

Our  fympathy,  on  the  contrary,  with  deep  dif- 
trefs,  is  very  ftrong  and  very  fincere.  It  is  unne- 
ceffary  to  give  an  inftance.  We  weep  even  at  the 
feigned  reprefentation  of  a  tragedy.  If  you  la- 
bour, therefore,  under  any  fignal  calamity,  if  by 
fome  extraordinary  misfortune  you  are  fallen  into 
poverty,  into  difeafes,  into  difgrace  and  difappoint- 
ment ;  even  though  your  own  fault  may  have  been, 
in  part,  the  occafion,  yet  you  may  generally  de- 
pend upon  the  fincereft  fympathy  of  all  your 
friends,  and,  as  far  as  interefi  and  honour  will  per- 


Sea.  2.  0/ Propriety:  6$ 

mit,  upon  their  kindefl  affiftance  too.  But  if  your 
misfortune  is  not  of  this  dreadful  kind,  if  you  have 
only  been  a  little  baulked  in  your  ambition,  if  you 
have  only  been  jilted  by  your  miftrefs,  or  are  only 
hen-pecked  by  your  wife,  lay  your  account  with 
the  raillery  of  all  your  acquaintance. 


SECTION 


46  O/PnopRitTY.  Parti. 


SECTION       III. 

Of  the  effects  of  profperity  and  adverfity  upon  the 
judgment  of  mankind  with  regard  to  the  propriety 
of  adtion ;  and  why  it  is  more  eafy  to  obtain  their 
approbation  in  the  one  ftate  than  in  the  other. 


CHAP.     I. 

That  though  onrfympathy  with  for  row  is  generally  a  more 
lively  fenfation  than  our  Sympathy  with  joy •,  it  commonly 
falls  much  more  port  of  the  violence  of  what  is  naturally 
felt  by  the  perfon  principally  concerned. 


V>IUR  fympathy  with  forrow,  though  not  more 
real,  has  been  more  taken  notice  of  than  our  fym- 
pathy with  joy.  The  word  fympathy,  in  its  mcil 
proper  and  primitive  fignification,  denotes  our  fellow- 
feeling  with  the  fufTerings,  not  that  with  the  enjoy- 
ments, of  others.  A  late  ingenious  and  fubtile  phi- 
lofopher  thought  it  necevtary  to  prove,  by  arguments, 
that  we  had  a  real  fympathy  with  joy,  and  that  con- 
gratulation was  a  principle  of  human  nature.  No- 
body, I  believe,  ever  thought  it  neceffary  to  prove 
that  companion  was  fuch. 

Firtt  of  all,  ourSyrnpathy  with  forrow  is,  in  fome 
fenfe,  more  univerfai  than  that  with  joy.     Though 

iorrow 


Sect.  3.  O/Propriety.  &g 

forrow  is  exceiTive,  we  may  ftill  have  fome  fellow- 
feeling  with  it.     What  we  feel  does  not,  indeed,  in 
this   cafe*  amount  to  that  complete  fympathy,  to 
that  perfect  harmony  and  correfpondence  of  fenti- 
ments  which  conftitutes  approbation.     We  do  not 
weep,  and  exclaim,  and  lament,  with  the  fufferer. 
We  are  fenfible,  on  the  contrary,  of  his  weaknefs* 
and  of  the  extravagance  of  his   paiTion,    and  yet 
often  feel  a  very  fenfible  concern  upon  his  account. 
But  if  we  do  not  entirely  enter  into,  and  go  along 
with,  the  joy  of  another,  we  have  no  fort  of  regard 
or  fellow-feeling  for  it.     The  man  who  (kips  and 
dances  about   with  that  intemperate  and  fenfelefs 
joy  which  we  cannot  accompany  him  in,  is  the  object 
of  our  contempt  and  indignation. 

Pain  befides,  whether  of  mind  or  body,  is  a  more 
pungent  fenfation  than  pleafure,  and  our  fympathy 
with  .pain,  though  it  falls  greatly  ftiort  of  what  is 
naturally  felt  by  the  fufferer,  is  generally  a  more 
lively  and  diftinct  perception  than  our  fympathy 
with  pleafure,  though  this  lair  often  approaches 
more  nearly,  as  I  mail  (how  immediately,  to  the 
natural  vivacity  of  the  original  paiTion, 

Over  and  above  all  this,  we  often  ftruggle  to  keep 
down  our  fympathy  with  the  forrow  of  others. 
Whenever  we  are  not  under  the  obfervation  of  the 
fufferer,  we  endeavour,  for  our  own  fake,  to  fupprefs  it 
as  much  as  we  can,  and  we  are  not  always  fuccefsfuk 
The  oppofition  which  we  make  to  it,  and  the  reluc- 
tance with  which  we  yield  to  it,  necelTarily  oblige  us 
to  take  mere  particular  notice  of  it.  But  we  never 
have  occafion  to  make  this  oppofition  to  our  fym- 
pathy with  joy,     If  there  is  any  envy  in  the  cafe, 

F  we 


66  Of  P  r  o  p  r  i  e  t  y.  Fart  I, 

we  never  feel  the  leaft  propenfity  towards  it  •,  and 
if  there  is  none,  we  give  way  to  it  without  any  re- 
luctance. On  the  contrary,  as  we  are  always  a- 
fhamed  of  our  own  envy,  we  often  pretend,  and 
fometimes  really  wifh  to  fympathize  with  the  joy  of 
others,  when  by  that  difagreeable  fentiment  we  are 
difqualified  from  doing  fo.  We  are  glad,  we  fay, 
on  account  of  our  neighbour's  good  fortune,  when 
in  our  hearts,  perhaps,  we  are  really  forry.  We 
often  feel  a  fympathy  with  forrow  when  we  wifh  to 
be  rid  of  it  j  and  we  often  mifs  that  with  joy  when 
we  would  be  glad  to  have  it.  The  obvious  obferva- 
tion,  therefore,  which  it  naturally  fails  in  our  way 
to  make,  is  that  our  propenfity  to  fympathize  with 
ibrrow  mult  be  very  ftrong,  and  our  inclination  to 
fympathize  with  joy  very  weak. 

Notwithftanding  this  prejudice,  however,  I  will 
venture  to  affirm,  that,  when  there  is  no  envy  in  the 
cafe,  our  propenfity  to  fympathize  with  joy  is  much 
ftronger  than  our  propenfity  to  fympathize  with  for- 
row j  and  that  our  fellow-feeling  for  the  agreeable 
emotion  approaches  much  more  nearly  to  the  viva- 
city of  what  is  naturally  felt  by  the  perfons  princi- 
pally concerned,  than  that  which  we  conceive  for  the: 
painful  one. 

We  have  fome  indulgence  for  that  exceflive  grief 
which  we  cannot  entirely  go  along  with.  We  know 
what  a  prodigious  effort  is  requifite  before  the  fufferer 
can  bring  down  his  emotions  to  compleat  harmony 
and  concord  with  thofe  of  the  fpectator.  Though 
he  fails,  therefore,  we  eafily  pardon  him.  But  we 
have  no  fuch  indulgence  for  the  intemperance  of 
•oy  ;  becaufe  we  are  not  confcious  that  any  fuch  vafl 

effort 


Sect.  3.  O/Propriety,  67 

effort  is  requifite  to  bring  it  down  to  what  we  can 
entirely  enter  into.  The  man  who,  under  the 
greateft  calamities,  can  command  his  forrow,  feems 
worthy  of  the  higheft  admiration ;  but  he  who,  in 
the  fulnefs  of  profperity,  can  in  the  fame  manner 
mailer,  his  joy,  feems  hardly  to  deferve  any  praife. 
We  are  fenfible  that  there  is  a  much  wider  interval 
in  the  one  cafe  than  in  the  other,  between  what  is 
naturally  felt  by  the  perfon  principally  concerned, 
and  what  the  fpedlator  can  entirely  go  along  with. 

What  can  be  added  to  the  happinefs  of  the  man  who 
is  in  health,  who  is  out  of  debt,  and  has  a  clear 
confcience  r  To  one  in  this  fituation,  all  acceifions 
of  fortune  may  properly  be  laid  to  be  fuperfluous  ; 
and  if  he  is  much  elevated  udou  account  of  them, 
it  muft  be  the  effect  of  the  molt  frivolous  levity. 
This  fituation,  however,  may  very  well  be  called 
the  natural  and  ordinary  Hate  of  mankind.  Not- 
withftanding  the  prefent  mifery  and  depravity  of  the 
world,  fo  juflly  lamented,  this  really  is  the  flate  of 
the  greater  part  of  men.  The  greater  part  of  men., 
therefore,  cannot  find  any  great  difficulty  in  ele- 
vating themfeives  to  ail  the  joy  which  any  accef- 
fion  to  this  fituation  can  well  excite  in  their  com- 
panion. 

But  though  little  can  be  added  to  this  -flate,  much 
maybe  taken  from  it.  Though  between  this  condi- 
tion and  the  highetf  pitch  of  human  profperity,  the 
interval  is  but  a  trifle;  between  it  and  the  lowed 
depth  of  mifery  the  diflance  is  immenfeand  prodigious. 
Adverfity,  on  this  account,  necerfarily  depreffes  the 
mind  of  the  fafferer  much  more  below  its  natural 
ftate,  Mri  profperity  can  elevate  him  above  it, 
The  fpectatcr,  therefore,  muft  -  fi ncl  it  much  more 
difficult  to  fympathize  entirely,  and  keep  perfect 
F  a  time-, 


68  Of  P  r  o  p  r  i  e  t  V.  Part  1. 

tifne,  with  his  forrow,  than  thoroughly  to  enter  in- 
to his  joy,  and  muft  depart  much  further  from  his 
own  natural  and  ordinary  temper  of  mind  in  the  one 
cafe  than  in  the  other.  It  is  on  this  account,  that, 
though  our  fympathy  with  forrow  is  often  a  more 
pungent  fenfation  than  our  fympathy  with  joy,  it  al- 
ways falls  much  more  ihort  of  the  violence  of  what 
is  naturally  felt  by  the  perfon  principally  concerned. 

It  is  agreeable  to  fympathize  with  joy ;  and 
wherever  envy  does  not  oppofe  it,  our  heart  aban- 
dons itfeif  with  fatisfa&ion  to  the  highefl  tranfports 
of  that  delightful  fentiment.  But  it  is  painful  to 
go  along  with  grief,  and  we  always  enter  into  it 
with  reluctance*.  When  we  attend  to  the  repre- 
fentation  of  a  tragedy,  we  flruggle  againft  that  fym- 
pathetic  forrow  which  the  entertainment  inspires  as 
long  as  we  can,  and  we  give  way  to  it  at  lafl  only 
when  we  can  no  longer  avoid  it  :  we  even  then  en- 
deavour to  cover  our  concern  from  the  company. 
If  we  fhed  any  tears,  we  carefully  conceal  them, 
and  are  afraid  left:  the  fpeclators,  not  entering  into 

this 

*  It  has  been  objected  to  me  that  as  T  founcl  the  fentiment  of 
approbation,  which  is  always  agreeable,  upon  fympathy,  it  is  in- 
confiftent  with  my  fyflem  to  admit  any  difagreeable  fympathy.  I 
anfwer,  that  in  the  fentiment  of  approbation  there  are  two  things  to 
be  taken  notice  of;  firft  the  fympathetic  paflion  of  the  fpectator  ; 
and,  fecondly,  the  emotion  which  arifes  from  his  obferving  the  per- 
fect coincidence  between  this  fympathetic  paffion  in  himfelf,  and  the 
original  paflion  in  the  perfon  principally  concerned.  This  lafl:  emo- 
tion, in  which  the  fentiment  of  approbation  properly  confilts,  is  al- 
ways agreeable  and  delightful.  The  other  may  either  be  agreeable 
or  difagrcc.tble,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  original  paflion,  whofe 
feature  it  mud  always,  in  fome  meafure,  retain.  Two  founds*  I 
(uppofe,  may,  each  of  them,  taken  firigly,  be  auftere,  and  yet,  if 
:!,/  v  ire'perfe5l  concords,  the  perception  of  their  harmony  and  coia- 
~e  may  be  agreeable. 


Sect.  3.  Of  P  R  O  P  R  I  E  T  Y.  69 

this  exceflive  tendernefs,  mould  regard  it  as  effemi- 
nacy and  weaknefs.  The  wretch  whofe  misfortunes 
call  upon  our  compallion  feels  with  what  reluctance 
we  are  likely  to  enter  into  his  forrow,  and  therefore 
propofes  his  grief  to  us  with  fear  and  hefitation  : 
he  even  fmothers  the  half  of  it,  and  is  amamed, 
upon  account  of  this  hard-hearted nefs  of  mankind, 
to  give  vent  to  the  fulnefs  of  his  affliction.  '  It  is  o- 
therwife  with  the  man  who  riots  in  joy  and  fuccefs. 
Wherever  envy  does  not  intereft  us  againfthim,  he 
expects  our  compleatefl  fympathy.  He  does  not  fear, 
therefore,  to  announce  himfelf  with  fhouts  of  exul- 
tation, in  full  confidence  that  we  are  heartily  dif- 
pofed  to  go  along  with  him. 

Why  mould  we  be  more  amamed  to  weep  than  to 
laugh  before  company  ?  We  may  often  have  as  real 
occafion  to  do  the  one  as  to  do  the  other  ■  But  we  al- 
ways feel  that  the  fpectators  are  more  likely  to  go 
along  with  us  in  the  agreeable,  than  in  the  painful 
emotion.  It  is  always  miferable  to  complain,  even 
when  we  are  oppreffedbythe  mofl  dreadful  calamities. 
But  the  triumph  of  victory  is  not  always  ungraceful. 
Prudence,  indeed,  would  often  advife  us  to  bear  pro- 
fperity  with  more  moderation  -,  becaufe  prudence 
would  teach  us  to  avoid  that  envy  which  this  very 
triumph  is,    more  than  any  thing,  apt  to  excite. 

How  hearty  are  the  acclamations  of  the  mob, 
who  never  bear  any  envy  to  their  fuperiors,  at  a 
triumph  or  a  public  entry  ?  And  how  fedate  and  mo- 
derate is  commonly  their  grief  at  an  execution  ? 
Our  forrow  at  a  funeral  generally  amounts  to  no 
more  than  affected  gravity;  but  our  mirth  at  a 
chriilening  or  a  marriage,  is  always  from  the  heart, 
and  without  any  affectation.  Uponthefe,  and  all 
fuch  joyous  occafions,  our  fatisfaction,  though  not  fo 

F  3  durable. 


^o  O/Propriety.  Part  I. 

durable,  is  often  as  lively  as  that  of  the  perfons 
principally  concerned.  Whenever  we  cordially  con- 
gratulate our  friends,  which,  however,  to  the  dip- 
grace  of  human  nature,  we  do  but  feldom,  their 
joy  literally  becomes  our  joy;  we  are  for  the  moment, 
as  happy  as  they  are :  our  heart  fwells  and  over- 
flows with  real  pleafare :  joy  and  complacency 
fparkle  from  our  eyes,  and  animate  every  fea- 
ture of  our  countenance,  and  every  gefture  of  our 
body. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  when  we  condole  with  our 
friends  in  their  afflictions,  how  little  do  we  feel,  in 
comparifon  of  what  they  feel  ?  We  fit  down  by 
them,  we  look  at  them,  and  while  they  relate  to  us 
the  circumftances  of  their  misfortune,  we  liften 
to  them  with  gravity  and  attention.  But  while  their 
narration  is  every  moment  interrupted  by  thofe  na- 
tural burfls  of  paflion  which  often  feem  almofl  to 
choak  them  in  the  midft  of  it  -  how  far  are  the  lan- 
guid emotions  of  our  hearts  from  keeping  time  to 
the  tranfports  of  theirs  ?-  We  may  be  fenfible,  at  the 
fame  time,  that  their  paflion  is  natural,  and  no 
greater  than  what  we  .ourfelves  might  feel  upon  the 
like  occafion.  We  may  even  inwardly  reproach  our- 
felves  with  our  own  want  of  fcnfibility,  and  per- 
haps  on  that  account,  work  ourfelves  up  into  an  ar- 
tificial fympathy,  which,  however,  when  it  is  raifed, 
is  always  the  flightexl  and  moil  tranfirory  imagin- 
able i  and  generally,  as  foon  as  we  have  left  the 
room,  vaniihes,  and  is  gone  for  ever.  Nature,  it 
feerns,  when  flie  has  loaded  us  with  our  own  far- 
rows, thought  that  they  were  enough,  and  there- 
fore did  not  command  us  to  take  any  further  (hare 
in  thofe  of  others,  than  what  was  necefiavy  to 
prompt  us  to  relieve  them. 

It 


Sect.  3.  O/Propriety.  71 

It  is  on  account  of  this  dull  fenfibility  to  the  af- 
flictions of  others,  that  magnanimity  amidfl  great 
diftrefs  appears  always  fo  divinely  graceful.  His 
behaviour  is  genteel  and  agreeable  who  can  maintain 
his  chearfulnefs  amidfl  a  number  of  frivolous  dif- 
aflers.  .  But  he  appears  to  be  more  than  mortal  who 
can  fupport  in  the  fame  manner  the  mod  dreadful 
calamities.  We  feel  what  an  immenfe  effort  is  re- 
quifite  to  filence  thofe  violent  emotions  which  natu- 
rally agitate  and  diffract  thofe  in  his  fituation. 
We  are  amazed  to  rind  that  he  can  command  him- 
felf  fo  intirely.  His  firmnefs,  at  the  fame  time, 
perfectly  coincides  with  our  infenfibility.  He  makes 
no  demand  upon  us  for  that  more  exquifite  de- 
gree of  fenfibility  which  we  find,  and  which  we 
are  mortified  to  find,  that  we  do  not  poifefs.  There 
is  the  mofl  perfect  correfpondence  between  his  fen- 
timents  and  ours,  and  on  that  account  the  mofl  per- 
fect propriety  in  his  behaviour.  It  is  a  propriety  too, 
which,  from  our  experience  of  the  ufual  weak- 
nefs  of  human  nature,  we  could  not  reafonably  have 
expected  he  mould  be  able  to  maintain.  We  won- 
der with  furprife  and  aflonifhment  at  that  flrength 
of  mind  which  is  capable  of  fo  noble  and  generous 
an  effort.  The  fentiment  of  compleat  fympathy 
and  approbation,  mixed  and  animated  with  won- 
der and  furprife,  conflitutes  what  is  properly  called 
admiration,  as  has  already  been  more  than  once 
taken  notice  of.  Cato,  furrounded  on  all  fides  by 
his  enemies,  unable  to  refill  them,  and  difdainingto 
fubmit  to  them,  and  reduced  by  the  proud  maxims 
of  that  age,  to  the  neceflity  of  deflroying  him- 
felf ;  yet  never  fhrinking  from  his  misfortunes,  ne- 
ver fupplicating  with  the  lamentable  voice  of  wretch- 
ednefs,  thofe  miferable  fympathetic  tears  which  we 
are  always  fo  unwilling  to  give  ;  but  en  the  contrary, 

F  4  arming 


1%  0/  Propriety.  Part  I. 

arming  himfelf  with  manly  fortitude,  and  the  mo- 
ment before  he  executes  his  fatal  refolution,  giving, 
with  his  ufual  tranquillity,  all  neceffary  orders  for 
the  fafety  of  his  friends  ;  appears  to  Seneca,  that 
great  preacher  of  infenfibility,  a  fpeclacle  which 
even  the  gods  themfelves  might  behold  with  pleafure 
and  admiration. 

Whenever  we  meet,  in  common  life,  with  any 
examples  of  fuch  heroic  magnanimity,  we  are  al- 
ways extremely  affe&ed.  We  are  more  apt  to  weep 
and  Hied  tears  for  fuch  as, ,  in  this  manner,  feem 
to  feel  nothing  for  themfelves,  than  for  thofe  who 
give  way  to  all  the  weaknefs  of  forrow  :  and  in  this 
particular  cafe,  the  fympathetic  grief  of  the  fpedta- 
tor  appears  to  go  beyond  the  original  pafilon  in  the 
perfon  principally  concerned.  The  friends  of  So- 
crates all  wept  when  he  drank  the  laft  potion,  while 
he  himfelf  expreffed  the  gay  ell:  and  moil  chearful 
tranquillity.  Upon  ail  fuch  occafions  the  fpeclator 
makes  no  effort,  and  has  no  occafion  to  make  any, 
in  order  to  conquer  his  fympathetic  forrow.  He  is 
under  no  fear  that  it  will  tranfport  him  to  any  thing 
that  is  extravagant  and  improper  ^  he  is  rather  pleafed 
with  the  fenfibility  of  his  own  heart,  and  gives  way. 
to  it  wit;h  complacence  and  felf-approbation.  He 
gladly  indulges,  therefore,  the  moll  melancholy 
views  which  can  naturally  occur  to  him,  concerning 
the  calamity  of  his  friend,  for  whom,  perhaps,  he 
never  felt  fo  exquifitely  before,  the  tender  and  tearful 
pafTion  of  love.  But  it  is  quite,  otherwife  with  the 
perfon  principally  concerned.  He  is  obliged  as  much 
as  poflible,  to  turn  away  his  eyes  from  whatever  is 
either  naturally  terrible  or  dlfasrreeable  in  his  fltna- 
tipn.  Too  ferious  an  attention  to  thofe  circum- 
(tances,  he  fears,  might  make  fo  violent  an  im- 

preiiion, 


Seft.  3.  O/Propriety.  73 

preflion  upon  him,  that  he  could  no  longer  keep 
within  the  bounds  of  moderation,  or  render  him- 
felf  the  object  of  the  complete  fympathy  and  ap- 
probation of  the  fpedtators.  He  fixes  his  thoughts,, 
therefore,  upon  thofe  only  which  are  agreeable; 
the  applaufe  and  admiration  which  he  is  about  to 
deferve  by  the  heroic  magnanimity  of  his  behaviour. 
To  feel  that  he  is  capable  of  fo  noble  and  generous 
an  effort,  to  feel  that  in  this  dreadful  fituation  he  can 
Hill  act.  as  he  would  defire  to  act,  animates  and  tranf- 
portshim  with  joy,  and  enables  him  to  fupport  that 
triumphant  gaiety  which  feems  to  exult  in  the  vic- 
tory he  thus  gains  over  his  misfortunes. 

On  the  contrary,  he  always  appears,  in  fome 
meafure,  mean  and  defpicable,  who  is  funk  in 
forrow  and  dejection  upon  account  of  any  calamity 
of  his  own.  We  cannot  bring  ourfelves  to  feel  for 
him  what  he  feels  for  himfelf,  and  what,  perhaps, 
we  mould  feel  for  ourfelves  if  in  his  fituation  :  we, 
therefore,  defpife  him ;  unjuftly,  perhaps,  if  any 
fentiment  could  be  regarded  as  unjuit,  to  which 
we  are  by  nature  irrefiitibly  determined.  The  weak- 
nefs  of  forrow  never  appears  in  any  refpedt  agree- 
able, except  when  it  arifes  from  what  we  feel 
for  others  more  than  from  what  we  feel  for 
ourfelves.  A  fon,  upon  the  death  of  an  indulgent 
and  refpectable  father,  may  give  way  to  it  without 
much  blame.  His  forrow  is  chiefly  founded  upon  a 
fort  of  fympathy  with  his  departed  parent  •  and  we 
readily  enter  into  this  humane  emotion.  But  if  he 
mould  indulge  the  fame  weaknefs  upon  account  cf 
any  misfortune  which  affected  himfelf  only,  he 
would  no  longer  meet  with  any  fuch  indulgence. 
If  he  mould  be  reduced  to  beggary  and  ruin,    if  he 

mould 


74.  O/Propriety.  ■  Part  I. 

ftiould  be  expofed  to  the  moil  dreadful  dangers,  if 
he  mould  even  be  led  out  to  a  public  execution,  ^ 
and  there  fried  one  fmgle  tear  upon  the  fcarlold, 
he  would  difgrace  himfelf  for  ever  in  the  opinion  of 
all  the  gallant  and  generous  part  of  mankind.  Their 
compailion  for  him,  however,  would  be  very  ilrong, 
and  very  fincere ;  but  as  it  would  ft  ill  fall  fhort  of 
this  exceflive  weaknefs,  they  would  have  no  pardon 
for  the  man  who  could  thus  expofe  himfelf  in  the 
£yes  of  the  world.  His  behaviour  would  affecl:  them 
with  fhame  rather  than  with  forrow;  andthedif- 
honour  which  he  had  thus  brought  upon  himfelf 
would  appear  to  them  the  moil  lamentable  circum- 
ilance  in  his  misfortune.  How  did  it  dilgrace  the 
memory  of  the  intrepid  Duke  of  Biron,  who  had 
fo  often  braved  death  in  the  field,  that  he  wept 
upon  the  fcaffoid,  when  he  beheld  the  ilate  to  which 
he  was  fallen,  and  remembered  the  favour  and  the 
glory  from  which  his  own  ralhnefs  had  fo  unfor- 
tunately thrown  him ! 


CHAP.      If. 


Of  the   origin  of  ambition,    and  of  the  diftinRion  of 

ranks. 


.1  T  is  becaafe  mankind  are  difpofed  to  fympa- 
thize  more  entirely  with  our  joy  than  with  our  for- 
row, that  we  mafe  parade  of  our  riches,  and  con- 
ceal our  poverty.     Nothing  is  fo   mortifying  as  to 

be 


Sed.  3-  0/ Propriety.  75 

be  obliged  to  expofe  our  diftrefs  to  the  view  of  the 
public,  and  to  feel,  that  though  our  fituation  is 
open  to  the  eyes  of  all  mankind,  no  mortal  con- 
ceives for  us  the  half  of  what  we  fufFer.  Nay,  it 
is  chiefly  from  this  regard  to  the  fentiments  o£ 
mankind,  that  we  purfue  riches  and  avoid  poverty. 
For  to  what  purpofe  is  all  the  toil  and  buftle  of 
this  world  ?  what  is  the  end  of  avarice  and  arnbi^ 
tion,  of  the  purfuit  of  wealth,  of  power,  and  pre- 
eminence? Is  it  to  fupply  the  neceflities  of  na- 
ture ?  The  wages  of  the  meaner!  labourer  can 
fupply  them.  We  fee  that  they  afford  him  food 
and  cloathing,  the  comfort  of  a  houfe,  and  of  a  fa^ 
mily.  If  we  examine  his  ceconomy  with  rigor,  we 
mould  find  that  he  fpends  a  great  part  of  them  upon 
conveniences,  which  may  be  regarded  as  fuperflui- 
ties,  and  that,  upon  extraordinary  occafions,  he 
can  give  fomething  even  to  vanity  and  dillincYion, 
What  then  is  the  caufe  of  our  averfion  to  his  fitua* 
tion,  and  why  mould'  thofe  who  have  been  educated 
in  the  higher  ranks  of  life,  regard  it  as  worfe  than 
death,  to  be  reduced  to  live,  even  without  labour, 
upon  the  fame  fimple  fare  with  him,  to  dwell  un- 
der the  fame  lowly  roof,  and  to  be  cloathed  in  the 
fame  humble  attire?  Do  they  imagine  that  their 
ftomach  is  better,  or  their  fleep  founder  in  a  palace 
than  in  a  cottage  ?  the  contrary  has  been  10  often 
obferved,  and,  indeed,  is  fo  very  obvious,  though  it 
had  never  been  obferved,  that  there  is  no  body  ig- 
norant of  it.  From  whence,  then,  strifes  that  e- 
mulation  which  runs  through  all  the  different  ranks 
of  men,  and  what  are  the  advantages  which  we 
propofe  by  that  great  purpofe  of  human  life  which 
we  call  bettering  our  condition  ?  1o  be  obferved, 

to 


j6  O/Fropriety.  Fart  I. 

to  be  attended  to,  to  be  taken  notice  of  with  fym- 
pathy,   complacency,  and  approbation,    are  all  the 
advantages  which   we  can   propofe  to  derive  from 
it.     It  is  the  vanity,  not  the  eafe,   or  the  pleafure, 
which  interefls  us.     But  vanity  is  always  founded 
upon   the    belief  of  our  being  the  object  of  atten- 
tion and  approbation.      The   rich  man   glories  in 
his  riches,   becaufe  he  feels  that  they  naturally  draw 
upon  him  the  attention   of  the    world,    .and   that 
mankind  are  diipofed  to  go  along  with  him  in  all 
thofe  agreeable  emotions   with   which   the   advan- 
tages of  his  fituation   i@  readily  inipire   him.     At 
the   thought  of  this,     his    heart    feems    to    fwell 
and  dilate  itfelf  within  him,  and  he  is  fonder    of 
his  wealth   upon  this    account,    than    for   all   the 
ether  advantages  it  procures  him.     The  poor  man, 
on  the  contrary,  is  afhamed  of  his   poverty.     He 
feels  that  it  either  places  him  out  of  the  fight   of 
mankind,  or,  that,  if  they  take  any  notice  of  him, 
they  have,  however,  fcarce  any  fellow-feeling  with 
the  mifery  and  diftrefs  which   he   fuffers.     He    is 
mortified  upon  both   accounts ;    for  though  to   be 
overlooked,  and  to  be  difapproved  of,   are  things 
entirely  different,   yet  as  obfeurity  covers  us  from 
the    daylight  of    honour  and  approbation,  to  feel 
that  we  are  taken  no  notice  of  neceifarily   damps 
the  raoft  agreeable  hope,  and  difappoints  the    moil 
ardent   defire,  of  human  nature.     The  poor  man 
goes  out  and  comes  in  unheeded,  and  when  in  the 
midft  of  a  croud  is  in  the  fame  obfeurity  as  if  (hut 
up  in    his   own  hovel.     Thofe    humble  cares  and 
painful  attentions  which  occupy  thojfe  in  his  fitua- 
tion, afford  no  amufement  to  the  diiTipated  and  the 
gay.     They  turn, away  their  eyes  from  him,  or   tf 
the  extremity  cfn's  diftrefs  forces  them  to  look 

at 


Sect.  3.  0/pROPRiETY,  77 

at  him,  it  is  only  to  fpurn  fo  difagreeable  an  object 
from  among,  them.  The  Fortunate  and  the  proud 
wonder  at  the  infolence  of  human  wretched  nefs, 
that  it  -mould  dare  to  prefent  itfelf  before  them, 
and  with  the  loathfome  afpect  of  its  mifery,  pre- 
fume  to  diflurb  the  ferenity  of  their  happinefs.  The 
man  of  rank  and  distinction,  on  the  contrary,  is 
obierved  by  all  the  world.  Every  body  is  eager  to 
look  at  him,  and  to  conceive,  at  leaft  by  fyrrt- 
pathy,  that  joy  and  exultation  with  which  his 
circumilances  naturally  infpire  him.  His  actions 
are  the  objects  of  the  public  care.  Scarce  a  word 
fcarce  a  gefture,  can  fall  from  him  that  is  altoo-e- 
ther  neglected.  In  a  great  alfembly  he  is  the  perfon 
upon  whom  all  direct  their  eyes;  it  is  upon  him  that 
their  paflions  feem  all  to  wait  with  expectation 
in  order  to  receive  that  movement  and  direction 
which  he  mall  imprefs  upon  them ;  and  if  his 
behaviour  is  not  altogether  abfurd,  he  has,  eve- 
ry moment,  an  opportunity  of  interefting  man- 
kind, and  of  rendering  himfelf  the  objett  of 
the  obfervation  and  fellow-feeling  of  every  body 
about  him.  It  is  this,  which  notwithstanding  the 
reftraint  it  impofes,  notwithftanding  the  lofs  of  li- 
berty with  which  it  is  attended,  renders  greatnefs 
the  object  of  envy,  and  compenfates  in -the  opi- 
nion of  mankind,  all  that  toil,  all  that  anxiety,  all 
thofe  mortifications  which  muft  be  undergone  in 
the  purfuit  of  it  5  and  what  is  of  yet  more  con- 
fequence,  all  that  leifare,  ail  that  eafe,  all  that 
careiefs  fecurity,  which  are  forfeited  for  ever  by  the 
acquifition. 

When  we  confider  the  condition  of  the  great, 
in  thofe  delufive  colours  in  which  the  imagination 
is  apt  to  paint   it,   it  feems  to  be  almofl  the  ab- 

ilract 


^8  0/ Propriety.  Part  I. 

ftrad  idea  of  a  perfect  and  happy  Hate.  It  is  the 
very  ftate  which,  in  all  our  waking  dreams  and 
idle  reveries,  we  had  iketched  out  to  ourfelves  as 
the  final  object  of  all  our  defires.  We  feel,  there- 
fore, a  peculiar  fympathy  with  the  fatisfa&ion  of 
thofe  who  are  in  it.  We  favour  all  their  incli- 
nations, and  forward  all  their  wifhes.  What 
pity,  we  think,  that  any  thing  mould  fpoil  and 
corrupt  fo  agreeable  a  fituation  !  We  could  even 
wifh  them  immortal ;  and  it  feems  hard  to  us, 
that  death  mould  at  laft  put  an  end  to  fuch  per- 
fect enjoyment.  It  is  cruel,  we  think,  in  Na- 
ture, to  compel  them  from  their  exalted  ftations 
to  that  humble,  but  hofpitable  home,  which  me 
has  provided  for  all  her  children.  Great  King, 
live  for  ever  !  is  the  compliment,  which  after  the 
manner  of  eaftern  adulation,  we  mould  readily 
make  them,  if  experience  did  not  teach  us  its 
abfurdity.  Every  calamity  that  befals  them,  every 
injury  that  is  done  them,  excites  in  the  breaft  of 
the  fpectator  ten  times  more  companion  and  re- 
fentment  than  he  would  have  felt,  had  the  fame 
things  happened  to  other  men.  It  is  the  misfor- 
tunes of  Kings  only  which  afford  the  proper  fub- 
jects  for  tragedy.  They  referable,  in  this  re^ 
fpect,  the  misfortunes  of  lovers.  Thofe  two  iitua- 
tions  are  the  chief  which  intereft  us  upon  the 
theatre ;  becaufe,  in  fpite  of  all  that  reafon  and 
experience  can  tell  us  to  the  contrary,  the  pre- 
judices of  .the  imagination  attach  to  thefe  two 
l  ftates  a  happinefs  fuperior  to  any  other.  To  dif- 
turb,  or  to  put  an  end  to  fuch  perfect  enjoy- 
ment, feems  to  be  the  moil  atrocious  of  all  in- 
juries. The  traitor  who  confpires  againit.  the  life 
of  his  monarch,  is  thought  a  greater  monfter  than 

any 


Sect.  3.  0/  Propriety.  79 

any  other  murderer.  All  the  innocent  blood  that 
was  fried  in  the  civil  wars,  provoked  lefs  indig- 
nation than  the  death  of  Charles  I.  A  itranger 
to  human  nature,  who  faw  the  indifference  of 
men  about  the  mifery  of  their  inferiors,  and  the 
regret  and  indignation  which  they  feel  for  the 
misfortunes  and  fufTerings  of  thoie  above  them, 
would  be  apt  to  imagine,  that  pain  muft  be  more 
agonizing,  and  the  convulfions  of  death  more  ter- 
rible to  perfons  of  higher  rank,  than  to  thofe  of 
meaner  Nations.  ' 

Upon  this  difpofition  of  mankind,  to  go  along 
with  all  the  pailions  of  the  rich  and  the  powerful, 
is  founded  the  diftinction  of  ranks,  and  the  order 
of  fociety.  Our  obfequioufnefs  to  our  fuperiors 
more  frequently  arifes  from  our  admiration  for 
the  advantages  of  their  fituation,  than  from  any 
private  expectations  of  benefit  from  their  good- 
will. Their  benefits  can  extend  but  to  a  'few  ; 
but  their  fortunes  intereft  almoft  every  body.  We 
are  eager  to  allift  them  in  compleating.  a  fyftem 
of  happinefs  that  approaches  fo  near  to  perfec- 
tion ;  and  we  defire  to  ferve  them- for  their  own 
fake,  without  any  other  recompenfe  but  the  va- 
nity or  the  honour  of  obliging  them.  Neither  is 
our  deference  to  their  inclinations  founded  chiefly, 
or  altogether,  upon  a  regard  to  the  utility  of  fuch 
fubmiilion,  and  to  the  order  of  fociety,  which  is 
bell  fupported  by  it.  Even  when  the  order  of  fo- 
ciety feems  to  require  that  we  mould  cppofe  them, 
we  can  hardly  bring  ourfelves  to  do  it.  That  kings 
are  the  fervants  of  the  people,  to  be  obeyed,  re- 
filled, depofed,  or  pumfhed,  as  the  public  con- 
veniency  may  require,  is  the  dcchLe  of  -afon 
and    philofophy-    but  it    is   not    the  2  cf 

N    :ure. 


So  0/  PkopRiETf.  Part  t. 

Nature."     Nature  would   teach,  us    to    fubmit    to 
them,    for    their  own   fake,    to  tremble  and  bow 
down  before  their  exalted  ftation,  to  regard  their 
fmile  as  a   reward  fufficient    to    compenfate   any 
fervices,    and   to  dread   their    difpleafure,  though 
no  other  evil  was  to    follow    from   it,  as  the  fe- 
verelt   of   all  mortifications.     To    treat  them  in 
any  refpedt  as  men,   to  reafon  and  difpute  with 
them    upon  ordinary  occafions,  requires   fuc'h  re- 
folution,   that  there  are  few   men   whofe  magna- 
nimity can  fupport  them  in    it,    unlefs   they  are 
likewife   aflilted   by  familiarity   and   acquaintance. 
The  Itrongelt  motives,    the  molt  furious .  paflions, 
fear,    hatred,  and  refentment,  are  fcarce  fufficient 
to  balance  this  natural  difpofition  to  refpedt  them  : 
and  their  conduct  mult,  either  jultly  or  unjuitly, 
have   excited  the  higheft   degree  of  all  thofe  paf- 
lions,  before  the  bulk  of  the  people  can  be  brought 
to  oppofe  them  With  violence,   or  to  defire  to  fee 
them    either    punifhed    or   depofed.     Even    when 
the  people  have   been    brought    this  length,  they 
are    apt  to   relent  every  moment,   and  eafiiy  re- 
lapfe  into  their  habitual  Itate  of  deference  to  thofe 
whom  they  have    been  acciiltomed  to  look  upon 
as  their  natural  fuperiors.     They  cannot  Hand  the 
mortification  of  their  monarch.     Companion  foon 
takes  the  place  of  refentment,  they  forget  all  paft 
provocations,     their  old  principles  of    loyalty  re- 
vive,  and   they  run  to  re-eitablifh  the  ruined  au- 
thoritv  of  -their  old  mailer,    with  the  fame   vio- 
lence  with  which  they  had  oppofed  it.     The  death 
of  Charles  I.  brought  about  the -Reiteration  of  the 
royal  family.     Companion  for  James  II.    when  he 
was  feized  by  thev  populace  in  making  his   efcape 
on    (hip-board*    had   slmolt   prevented    the    Re- 
volution. 


Seel.  3.  Of  Propriety.  81 

volution,   and  made   it  go  on  more   heavily  than 
before. 

Do  the  great  feem  infenfible  of  the  eafy  price 
at  which  they  may  acquire  the  public  admiraj 
tion ;  or  do  they  feem  to  imagine  that  to  them, 
as  to  other  men,  it  muft  be  the  purchafe  either  of 
fweat  or  of  blood?  By  what  important  accom- 
pliihments  is  the  young  nobleman  inftrudted  to 
fupport  the  dignity  of  his  rank,  and  to  render 
himfelf  worthy  of  that  fuperiority  over  his  fellow- 
citizens,  to  which  the  virtue  of  his  anceftors  had 
raifed  them?  Is  it  by  knowledge,  by  induftry, 
by  patience,  by  felf-denial,  or  by  virtue  of  any 
kind  ?  As  all  his  words,  as  all  his  motions  are 
attended  to,  he  learns  an  habitual  regard  to  every 
circumftance  of  ordinary  behaviour,  and  fludies  to 
perform  al)  thofe  fmall  duties  with  the  raoft  ex- 
act propriety.  As  he  is  confeious  how  much  he 
is  obferved,  and  how  much  mankind  are  difpofed 
to  favour  all  his  inclinations,  he  acts,  upon  the 
mod  indifferent  occafions,  with  that  freedom  and 
elevation  which  the  thought  of  this  naturally 
infpires.  His  air,  his  manner,  his  deportment,  all 
mark  that  elegant  and  graceful  fenfe  of  his  own 
fuperiority,  Which  thofe  who  are  born  to  inferior 
ftations  can  hardly  ever  arrive  at :  thefe  are  the 
arts  by  which  he  propofes  to  make  mankind  more 
eafily  fubmit  to  his  authority,  and  to  govern  their 
inclinations  according  to  his  own  pleafure  :  and 
in  this  he  is  feldom  difappointed.  Thefe  arts, 
fupported  by  rank  and  pre-eminence,  are,  upon 
ordinary  occafions,  furncient  to  govern  the  world. 
Lewis  XIV.  during  the  greater  part  of  his  reign, 
was  regarded,  not  only  in  France?  but  over  all 
G  Europe, 


82  0/  Propriety.  Parti. 

Europe,  as  the  moil  perfect  model  of  a  great 
prince.  But  what  were  the  talents  and  virtues  by 
which  he  acquired  this  great  reputation  ?  Was  it 
by  the  fqrupulous  and  inflexible  juftice^  of  all  his 
undertakings,  by  the  immenfe  dangers  and  dif- 
ficulties with  which  they  were  attended,  or  by 
the  unwearied  and  unrelenting  application  with 
which  he  purfued  them  ?  Was  it  by  his  extenfive 
knowledge,  by  his  exquifite  judgment,  or  by  his 
lieroic  valour?  It  was  by  none  of  thefe  -qualities. 
But  he  was,  firfl  of  all,  the  moll  powerful  prince 
in  Europe,  and  confequently  held  the  higheft  rank 
among  kings  ;  and  then,  fays  his  hiftorian,  u  he 
"  furpaiTed  all  his  courtiers  in  the  gracefulnefs  of 
"  his  ihape,  and  the  majeftic  beauty  of  his  features. 
V  The  found  of  his  voice,  noble  and  arTedling, 
"  gained  thofe  hearts  which  his  prefence  intimi- 
"  dated.  He  had  a  ftep  and  deportment  which 
"  could  fuit  only  him  and  his  rank,  and  which 
"  would  have  been  ridiculous  in  any  other  per- 
"  fon.  The  embarraflment  which  he  occafioned 
"  to  thofe  who  fpoke  to  him,  flattered  that  fecret 
"  fatisfa&ion  with  which  be  felt  his  own  fuperi- 
"  ority.  The  old  officer,  who  was  confounded 
"  and  faultered  in  afking  him  a  favour,  and  not 
"  being  able  to  conclude  his  difcourfe,  faidtchim, 
<c  Sir,  your  majefty,  I  hope,  will  believe  that  I 
"  do  not  tremble  thus  before  your  enemies :  had 
"  no  difficulty  to  obtain  what  he  demanded.'* 
Thefe  frivolous  accomplifnments,  fupported  by  his 
rank,  and,  no  doubt,  too,  by  a  degree  of  other 
talents  and  virtues,  which  feems,  however,  not 
to  have  been  much  above  mediocrity,  eftablifhed 
this  prince  in  the  efleem  of  his  own  age,  and 
have  drawn?  even  from  pofterity,  a  good  deal  of 

refpeft 


Sed.  3.  O/Propriety,  83 

refpecl:  for  his  memory.  Compared  with  thofe 
of  his  own  times,  and  in  his  own  prefence,  no 
other  virtue,  it  feems,  appeared  to  have  any  me- 
rit. Knowledge,  induftry,  valour,  and  beneficence, 
trembled,  were  abafhed,  and  loft  all  dignity  be- 
fore them. 

But  it  is  not  by  accomplishments  of  this  kind, 
that  the  man  of  inferior  rank  mud  hope  to  di- 
flinguifh  himfelf.  Politenefs  is  fo  much  the  virtue 
of  the  great,  that  it  will  do  little  honour  to  any 
body  but  themfelves.  The  coxcomb,  who  imi- 
tates their  manner,  and  affects  to  be  eminent  by 
the  fuperior  propriety  of  his  ordinary  behaviour, 
is  rewarded  with  a  double  fhare  of  contempt  for  his 
folly  and  prefumption.  Why  mould  the  man,  whom 
nobody  thinks  it  worth  while  to  look  at,  be  very 
anxious  about  the  manner  in  which  he  holds  up  his 
head,  or  difpofes  of  his  arms  while  he  walks  through 
a  room  ?  He  is  occupied  furely  with  a  very  Super- 
fluous attention,  and  with  an  attention  too  that 
marks  a  fenfe  of  his  own  importance,  which  no 
other  mortal  can  go  along  with.  The  moft  per- 
fect modefly  and  plainnefs,  joined  to  as  much  ne- 
gligence as  is  confident  with  the  refpect  due  to 
the  company,  ought  to  be  the  chief  charadterif- 
tics  of  the  behaviour  of  a  private  man.  If  ever 
he  hopes  to  diftinguifh  himfelf,  it  muft  be  by 
more  important  virtues.  He  muft  acquire  de- 
pendants to  balance  the  dependants  of  the  great, 
and  he  has  no  other  fund  to  pay  them  from, 
but  the  labour  of  his  body,  and  the  activity  of 
his  mind.  He  muft  cultivate  thefe  therefore :  he 
muft  acquire  fuperior  knowledge  in  his  profeflion, 
and  fuperior  induftry  in  the  exercife  of  it.  He 
G  2  muft 


84  Qf  Propriety,'  Part  I. 

muft  be  patient  in  labour,  refolute  in  danger,  and 
firm  in  diftrefs.  Thefe  talents  he  muft  bring  into- 
public  view,  by  the  difficulty,  importance,  and,  at 
the  fame  time,  good  judgment  of  his  undertakings, 
and  by  the  fevere  and  unrelenting  application 
with  which  he  purfues  them.  Probity  and  pru- 
dence, generofity  and  franknefs,  muft  characte- 
rize his  behaviour  upon  all  ordinary  occafions ; 
and  he  muft,  at  the  fame  time,  be  forward  to 
engage  in  all  thofe  fituations  in  which  it  requires 
the  greateft  talents  and  virtues  to  act  with  pro- 
priety, but  in  which  the  greateft  applaufe  is  to 
be  acquired  by  thofe  who  can  acquit  themfelves 
with  honour.  With  what  impatience  does  the  man 
of  fpirit  and  ambition,  who  is  deprelfed  by  his 
fituation,  look  round  for  fome  great  oppor- 
tunity to  diftinguifh  himfelf?  No  circumftances, 
which  can  afford  this,  appear  to  him  undefirable. 
He  even  looks  forward  with  fatisfaclion  to  the 
profpect  of  foreign  war,  or  civil  diffenfion  •  and, 
with  feeret  tranfport  and  delight,  fees  through 
all  the  confufion  and  bloodfhed  which  attend  them, 
the  probability  of  thofe  wifhed  for  occafions  prefent- 
ing  themfelves,  in  which  he  may  draw  upon  him- 
felf the  attention  and  admiration  of  mankind.  The 
man  of  rank  and  diftinction,  on  the  contrary, 
whofe  whole  glory  confifts  in  the  propriety  of  his 
ordinary  behaviour,  who  is  contented  with  the 
humble  renown  which  this  can  afford  him,  and 
has  no  talents  to  acquire  any  other,  is  unwilling 
to  embarrafs  himfelf  with  what  can  be  attended 
either  with  difficulty  or  diftrefs.  To  figure  at  a 
ball  is  his  great  triumph,  and  to  fucceed  in 
an  intrigue  of  ^gallantry,  his  higheft  exploit.  He 
has  an  averfion  to  all  public  confufions,  not  from 

the 


Sect.  3.  Of  P  R  O  P  R  I  E  T  y.  85 

the  love   of  mankind,    for  the  great    never  look 
upon  their  inferiors  as  their  fellow-creatures ;  nor 
yet  from  want  of  courage,  for  in  that  he  is  fel- 
dom  defective ;   but  from  a   confcioumefs  that  he 
porTefles  none   of  the  virtues    which  are  required 
in  fuch  fituations,    and  that   the    public  attention 
will  certainly  be  drawn  away  from  him  by  others. 
He   may  be   willing   to  expofe  himfelf  to    fome 
little   danger,    and   to  make  a   campaign  when   it 
happens   to  be  the  fafhion.     But  he  fh udders  with 
horror   at  the  thought  of  any  fituation  which  de- 
mands the  continual  and  long  exertion  of  patience, 
induftry,    fortitude,     and    application  of  thought. 
Thefe  virtues  are  hardly  ever  to  be  met   with   in 
men  who  are  born  to  thofe  high  ftations.     In  all  go- 
vernments accordingly,   even    in  monarchies,    the 
'higher!  offices  are  generally  pofTeifed,  and  the  whole 
detail  of  the  adminiltration  conducted  by  men  who 
were  educated  in  the  middle  and  inferior  ranks  of 
life,    who  have  been  carried  forward  by  their  own 
jndurtry    and    abilities,     though  loaded   with   the 
jealoufy,  and  oppofed  by  the  refentment  of  all  thofe 
who   were  born   their  fuperiors,  and  to  whom  the 
great,   after  having  regarded  them  firfh  with  con- 
tempt, and  afterwards  with  envy,  are  at  laft  con- 
tented  to  truckle  with  the  fame  abject  meannefs 
with  which  they  defire  that  the  reft   of  mankind 
mould  behaye   to   themfelves. 

It  is  the  lofs  of  this  eafy  empire  over  the  af  - 
feet  ions  of  mankind  which  renders  the  fall  from 
greatnefs  fo  infupportable.  When  the  family  of 
the  King  of  Macedon  was  led  in  triumph  by 
Paulus  jEmilius,  their  misfortunes,  it  is  faid,  made 
them    divide  with    their   conqueror  the  attention 

G  3  of 


26  Of  Propriety.  Parti. 

of  the  Romon  people.     The  fight   of    the   royal 
children,   whofe  tender   age  rendered  them  infen- 
fible  of  their   fituation,   ftruck  the  fpettators,   a- 
midft  the  public    rejoicings   and  profperity,    with 
the  tendered  forrow  and  companion.     The  King 
appeared  next  in  the  procefTion  -   and  feemed  like 
one  confounded  and  aftonifhed,    and  bereft  of  all 
fentiment,  by  the  greatnefs  of  his  calamities.     His 
friends  and  minifters  followed  after  him.     As  they 
moved  along,   they  often  call:  their  eye  upon  their 
fallen  fovereign,  and  always  bur  It  into  tears  at  the 
fight  ;    their  whole  behaviour  demonflrating   that 
they    thought  not   of  their  misfortunes,   but  were 
occupied  entirely  by  the  fuperior  greatnefs  of  his. 
The  generous  Romans,    on   the  contrary,  beheld 
him  with    difdain  and  indignation,    and  legarded 
as  unworthy  of  all  companion  the  man  who  could 
be  fo  mean-fpirited  as  to  bear  to  live  under  fuch 
calamities.     Yet  what  did  thofe  calamities  amount 
to  ?  According  to  the   greater  part   of  hiftorians, 
he  was  to  fpend   the  remainder  of  his   days  un- 
der   the   protection   of    a    powerful   and   humane 
people,    in    a    itate   which  in   itfelf    fhould    feem 
worthy  of  envy,  a  flate  of  plenty,  eafe,   leifure,  and 
fecurity,   from    which   it  was    impoflible   for  him 
even  by  his  own  folly  to  fall.     But  he   was   no 
longer  to  be  furrounded    by  that    admiring  mob 
of  fools,  flatterers,   and  dependants,  who  had  for- 
merly   been  accuflomed    to  attend   upon   all   his 
motions.     He    was  no  longer  to   be  gazed  upon 
by    multitudes,     nor   to  have  it  in  his   power  to 
render   himfelf  the   object  of  their  refpect,    their 
gratitude,  their  love,   their  admiration.     The  paf- 
fions  of  nations  vwere  no   longer  to  mould  them- 

felves 


Sett.  3.  0/  Propriety,  87 

felves  upon  his  inclinations.  This  was  that  infup- 
portable  calamity  which  bereaved  the  King  of  all 
fentiment ;  which  made  his  friends  forget  their  own 
misfortunes ;  and  which  the  Roman  magnanimity 
could  fcarce  conceive  how  any  man  could  be  fo 
mean-fpirited  as  to  bear  to  furvive. 

"  Love,  fays  my  Lord  Rochfoucault,   is  com- 
*4  monly  fucceeded  by  ambition  •     but   ambition 
"  is  hardly  ever   fucceeded  by   love."     That  paf- 
fion  when   once   it    has   got   entire    pofTeflion    of 
the  breail,  will  admit  neither  a   rival  nor  a  fuc- 
ceflbr.     To  thofe  wIiq  have   been   accuftomed  to 
the   poffeifion,  or  even  to  the  hope  of  public  ad- 
miration, all  other  pleafures  ficken  and  decay.     Of 
all    the   difcarded  ftatefmen    who   for  their    own 
eafe  have  fludied  to  get   the  better  of  ambition, 
and  to  defpife  thofe  honours   which  they  couhi  no 
longer  arrive  at,  how   few  have  been   able  to  fuc- 
ceed  ?  The  greater  part  have  fpent  their  time  in 
the  moll  lifllefs  and  infipid   indolence,  chagrined 
at  the  thoughts   of  their   own   infignificancy,    in- 
capable   of    being  interefled   in    the   occupations 
of   private  life,   without  enjoyment  except   when 
they  talked   of  their   former   greatnefs,   and  with- 
out  fatisfadtion  except  when  they  were  employed 
in  fome   vain  project  to   recover  it.     Are  you  in 
earneft  refolved  never  to   barter   your  liberty  for 
the  lordly  fervitude  of  a  Court,  but  to   live  free, 
fearlefs,  and  independent  ?  There  feems  to  be  one 
way  to  continue  in   that  virtuous  refolution  ;   and 
perhaps  but  one.     Never    enter    the   place  from 
whence  fo  few  have   been  able  to  return  j   never 
come  within  the  circle  of  ambition  ;  nor  even  bring 
yourfelf  into  comparifon  with  thofe  mailers  of  the 

G  4  earth 


88  0/  Propriety.  Part  I. 

earth  who  have  already  engroiTed  the  attention  of 
half  mankind  before  you. 

Of  fuch  mighty  importance  does  it  appear  to  be, 
in  the  imaginations  of  men,  to  fland  in  that  fituation 
which  fets  them  moft  in  the  view  of  general  fympa- 
thy  and  attention.  And  thus,  place,  that  great  ob- 
ject which  divides  the  wives  of  aldermen,  is  the  end 
of  half  the  labours  of  life  •  and  is  the  caufe  of  all  the 
tumult  and  buttle,  all  the  rapine  and  injuftice,  which 
avarice  and  ambition  have  introduced  into  this  world. 
People  of  fenfe,  it  is  faid,  indeed  defpife  place  •,  that 
is,  they  defpife  fitting  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
are  indifferent  who  it  is  that  is  pointed  out  to  the 
company  by  that  frivolous  circumflance,  which  the 
fmalleft  advantage  is  capable  of  overbalancing.  But 
rank,  diflindtion,  pre-eminence,  no  man  defpifes, 
unlefs  he  is  either  raifed  very  much  above,  or  funk 
very  much  below,  the  ordinary  itandard  of  human 
nature;  unlefs  he  is  either  fo  confirmed  in  wifdom 
and  real  philofophy,  as  to  be  fatished  that,  while  the 
propriety  of  his  conduft  renders  him  the  juft  object 
of  approbation,  it  is  of  little  confequence  though  he 
be  neither  attended  to,  nor  approved  of;  or  fo  habi- 
tuated to  the  idea  of  his  own  rheannefs,  fo  funk  in 
flothful  and  fottifh  indifference,  as  entirely  to  have 
forgot  the  defire,  and  almoft  the  very  wifh,  for  fu- 
periority. 


CHAP. 


Sed.  3.  Of  Propriety,  89 


CHAP.      III. 

Of  the  fiolcal  philofophy. 


w, 


HEN  we  examine  in  this  manner  into  the 
ground  of  the  different  degrees  of  eftimation  which 
mankind  are  apt  to  beftow  upon  the  different  con- 
ditions of  life,  we  (hall  find,  that  the  exceflive  pre- 
ference, which  they  generally  give  to  fome  of  them 
above  others,  is  in  a  great  meafure  without  any 
foundation.  If  to  be  able  to  act  with  propriety, 
and  to  render  ourfelves  the  proper  objects  of  the  ap- 
probation of  mankind,  be,  as  we  have  been  endea- 
vouring to  mow,  what  chiefly  recommends  to  us 
one  condition  above  another,  this  may  equally  be 
attained  in  them  all.  The  noblelt  propriety  of  con- 
duel:  may  be  fupported  in  adverfity,  as  well  as  in 
profperity  ;  and  though  it  is  fomewhat  more  difficult 
in  the  firft,  it  is  upon  that  very  account  more  ad- 
mirable. Perils  and  misfortunes  are  not  only  the 
proper  fchool  of  heroifm,  they  are  the  only  proper 
theatre  which  can  exhibit  its  virtue  to  advantage, 
and  draw  upon  it  the  full  applaufe  of  the  world. 
The  man,  whofe  whole  life  has  been  one  even  and 
uninterrupted  courfe  of  profperity,  who  never  braved 
any  danger,  who  never  encountered  any  difficulty, 
who  never  furmounted  any  diftrefs,  can  excite  but 
an  inferior  degree  of  admiration.  When  poets  and 
romance-writers  endeavour  to  invent  a  train  of  ad- 
ventures, which  fhall  give  the  greater!:  luflre  to  thofe 

characters 


90  0/  P  r  o  p  r  i  e  t  y.  Part  L 

characters  for  whom  they  mean  to  interefl  us,  they 
are  all  of  a  different  kind.  They  are  rapid  and  fud- 
den  changes  of  fortune,  fituations  the  moil:  apt  to 
drive  thofe  who  are  in  them  to  frenzy  and  diftraction, 
or  to  abject  defpair ;  but  in  which  their  heroes  act 
with  fo  much  propriety,  or  at  leaft  with  fo  much 
ipirit  and  undaunted  refolution,  as  ftill  to  command 
our  efleem.  Is  not  the  unfortunate  magnanimity  of 
£ato,  Brutus,  and  Leonidas,  as  much  the  object  of 
admiration,  as  that  of  the  fuccefsful  Caefar  or  Alex- 
ander ?  To  a  generous  mind,  therefore,  ought  it  not 
to  be  as  much  the  object  of  envy  ?  If  a  more  daz- 
zling fplendor  feems  to  attend  the  fortunes  of  fuc- 
cefsful conquerors,  it  is  becaufe  they  join  together 
the  advantages  of  both  fituations,  the  luflre  of  prof- 
perity  to  the  high  admiration  which  is  excited  by 
dangers  encountered,  and  difficulties  furmounted, 
with  intrepidity  and  valour. 

It  was  upon  this  account  that,  according  to  the 
iloical  philofophy,  to  a  wife  man  all  the  different 
conditions  of  life  were  equal.  Nature,  they  laid, 
had  recommended  fome  objects  to  our  choice,  and 
others  to  our  difapprobation.  Our  primary  appe^ 
tites  directed  us  to  the  purfuit  of  health,  ftrength, 
eafe,  and  perfection,  in  all  the  qualities  of  mind  and 
body;  and  of  whatever  could  promote  or  fecure 
thefe,  riches,  power,  authority :  and  the  fame  ori- 
ginal principle  taught  us  to  avoid  the  contrary.  But 
in  chufing  or  rejecting,  in  preferring  or  poftponing, 
thofe  firft  objects  of  original  appetite  and  averfion, 
Nature  had  likewife  taught  us,  that  there  was  a  cer- 
tain order,  propriety,  and  grace,  to  be  obferved,  of 
infinitely  greater  confequence  to  happinefs  and  per- 
fection, 


Se&.  3.         O/Propriety.  91 

fection,  than  the  attainment  of  thofe  objects  them- 
felves.     The  objects  of  our   primary  appetites  or 
aversions  were  to  be  purfued  or  avoided,    chiefly 
becaufe  a  regard  to  this  grace  and  propriety  requir- 
ed fuch  conduct.     In  directing  all  our  actions  ac- 
cording to  thefe,  confided  the  happinefs  and  glory 
of  human  nature.     In  departing  from  thofe  rules 
which  they  prefcribed  to  us,  its  greater!  wretched- 
nefs  and  moft  complete  depravity.    The  outward 
appearance  of  this  order  and  propriety  was  indeed 
more  eafily  maintained  in  fome  circumftances  than 
in  others.     To  a  fool,  however,  to  one  whofe  paf- 
fions  were  fubjected  to  no  proper  controul,  to  act 
with  real  grace  and  propriety,  was  equally  impof- 
fible  in  every  fituation.    Though  the  giddy  multi- 
tude might  admire  him,  though  his  vanity  might 
fometimes  be  elevated  by  their  ignorant  praifes  into 
fomething  that  refembled  felf-approbation,  yet  flill 
when  he  turned  his  view  to  what  palled  within  his 
own  breaft,  he  was  fecretly  confcious  to  himfelf  of 
the  abfurdity  and  meannefs  of  all  his  motives,  and 
inv/ardly  blufhed  and  trembled  at  the  thoughts  of 
the   contempt   which  he   knew   he  defer ved,  and 
which  mankind   would  certainly  bellow  upon  him 
if  they  faw  his  conduct  in  the  light  in  which  in  his 
own  heart  he  was  obliged  to  regard  it.     To  a  wife 
man,  on  the  contrary,  to  one  whofe  pafTions  were 
all  brought  under  perfect  fubjection  to  the  ruling 
principles  of  his  nature,  to  reafon  and  the  love  of 
propriety,  to  act  fo  as  to  deferve  approbation  was 
equally  eafy  upon  all  occafions.     Was  he  in  profpe- 
rity,  he  returned  thanks  to  Jupiter  for  having  join- 
ed him  with  circumftances  which  were  eafily  maf- 
tered,  and  in  which  there  was  little  temptation  to 
do  wrong.     Was  he  in  adverfity,  he  equally,  re- 
turned 


92  Of  Propriety.  Part  I. 

turned  thanks  to  the  director  of  this  fpec- 
tacle  of  human  life,  for  having  oppofed  to  him  a 
vigorous  athlete,  over  whom,  though  the  'con tell: 
was  likely  to  be  more  violent,  the  victory  was  more 
glorious,  and  equally  certain.  Can  there  be  any 
fhame  in  that  difLefs  which  is  brought  upon  us  with^ 
out  any  fault  of  cur  own,  and  in  which  we  behave 
with  perfect  propriety  ?  There  can  therefore,  be  no 
evil,  but,  on  the  contrary,  the  greateit  good  and  ad- 
vantage. A  brave  man  exults  in  thofe  dangers,  in 
which,  from  no  rafhnei's  of  his  own,  his  fortune  has 
involved  him.  They  afford  an  opportunity  of  ex- 
ercifing  that  heroic  intrepidity,  whole  exertion  gives 
the  exalted  delight  which  flows  from  the  coniciouf- 
nefs  of  fuperior  propriety  and  deferved  admiration. 
One  who  is  mailer  of  all  his  exercifes  has  no  averfion 
to  meafure  his  flrength  and  activity  with  the  ftrong- 
eft.  And  in  the  fame  manner,  one  who  is  mafter 
of  all  his  pafTions,  does  not  dread  any  circumfiances 
in  which  the  fuperintendant  of  the  univerfe  may 
think  proper  to  place  him.  The  bounty  of  that  Di-r 
vine  Being  has  provided  him  with  virtues  which  ren-^ 
der  him  fuperior  to  every  fituation.  If  it  is  pleafure, 
he  has  temperance  to  refrain  from  it ;  if  it  is  pain, 
he  has  conflancy  to  bear  it ;  if  it  is  danger  or  death, 
he  has  magnanimity  and  fortitude  to  defpife  it.  He 
never  complains  of  the  defliny  of  providence,  nor 
thinks  the  univerfe  in  confufion  when  he  is  out  of 
order.  He  does  not  look  upon  himfelf,  according 
to  what  felf-love  would  fuggeft,  as  a  whole,  fepa- 
rated  and  detached  from  every  other  part  of  nature, 
to  be  taken  care  of  by  itfelf,  and  for  itfelf.  He  re- 
gards himfelf  in  the  light  in  which  he  imagines  the 
great  Genius  of  human  nature,  and  of  the  world, 
regards  him.     rfe  enters,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  into  the 

fentiments. 


Sed.  3.  O/Propriety,  93 

fentiments  of  that  Divine  Being,  and  confiders  him- 
felf  as  an  atom,  a  particle,  of  an  immenfe  and  infi- 
nite fyftem,  which  muft,  and  ought  to  be  difpofed 
of,  according  to  the  conveniency  of  the  whole.  Af- 
fured  of  the  wifdom  which  directs  all  the  events  of 
human  life,  whatever  lot  befalls  him,  he  accepts  it 
with  joy,  fatisfied  that,  if  he  had  known  all  the  con- 
nexions and  dependencies  of  the  different  parts  of 
the  univerfe,.it  is  the  very  lot  which  he  himfelf  would 
have  wilhed  for.  If  it  is  life,  he  is  contented  to 
live  :  and  if  it  is  death,  as  Nature  muft  have  no  fur- 
ther occafion  for  his  prefence  here,  he  willingly  goes 
where  he  is  appointed.  I  accept,  laid  a  floical  phi- 
lolbpher,  with  equal  joy  and  fa tisf action,  whatever 
fortune  can  befal  me.  Riches  or  poverty,  pleafure 
or  pain,  health  or  ficknefs,  all  is  alike :  nor  would 
I  defire  that  the  gods  mould  in  any  refpect  change 
my  deflination.  If  I  was  to  afk  of  them  any  thing, 
beyond  what  their  bounty  has  already  bellowed,  it 
mould  be  that  they  would  inform  me  beforehand 
what  it  was  their  pleafure  mould  be  done  with  me, 
that  I  might  of  my  own  accord  place  myfelf  in  this 
fituation,  and  demonflrate  the  chearfulnefs  with 
which  I  embraced  their  allotment.  If  I  am  going 
to  fail,  fays  Epictetus,  I  chufe  the  bell  fhip,  and  the 
befl  pilot,  and  I  wait  for  the  faireit  weather  that  my 
circumftances  and  duty  will  allow.  Prudence  and 
propriety,  the  principles  which  the  gods  have  given 
me  for  the  direction  of  my  conduct,  require  this  of 
me  i  but  they  require  no  more :  and  if,  notwith- 
ftanding,  a  ftorm  arifes,  which  neither  the  ftrength 
of  the  veflel,  nor  the  fkill  of  the  pilot  are  likely  to 
withftand,  I  give  myfelf  no  trouble  about  the  con- 
fequence.  All  that  I  had  to  do,  is  done  already. 
The  directors  of  my  conduct  never  command  me 

to 


SAr  O/Proprtety.  Part  I. 

to  be  miferable,  to  be  anxious,  defponding,  or 
afraid.  Whether  we  are  to  be  drowned,  or  to  come 
to  a  harbour,  is  the  bufinefs  of  Jupiter,  not  mine. 
I  leave  it  entirely  to  his  determination,  nor  ever 
break  my  reft  with  confidering  which  way  he  is 
likely  to  decide  it,  but  receive  whatever  comes  with 
equal  indifference  and  fecurity. 

Such  was  the  philofophy  of  the  ftoics ;  a  philpr- 
fophy  which  affords  the  nobleft  leifons  of  magnani- 
mity, is  the  belt  fchool  of  heroes  and  patriots,  and 
to  the  greater  part  of  whofe  precepts  there  can  be 
no  objection,  except  that  honourable  one,  that  they 
teach  us  to  aim  at  a  perfection  altogether  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  nature.  I  fhall  not  at  prefent 
ftop  to  examine  it.  I  fhall  only  obferve,  in  confir- 
mation of  what  has  formerly  been  faid,  that  the 
molt  dreadful  calamities  are  not  always  thofe  which 
it  is  moll  difficult  to  fupport.  It  is  often  more  mor- 
tifying to  appear  in  publick,  under  fmall  difafters, 
than  under  great  misfortunes.  The  firft  excite  no 
fympathy  ;  but  the  fecond,  though  they  may  excite 
none  that  approaches  to  the  anguifh  of  the  fufferer, 
callforth,  however,  a  very  lively  companion.  The 
fentiments  of  the  fpe&ators  are,  in  this  laft  cafe, 
therefore,  lefs  wide  of  thofe  of  the  fufferer,  and 
their  imperfect  fellow-feeling  lends  him  fome  afiifl- 
ancein  Supporting  his  mifery.  Before  a  gay  aiTem- 
bly,  a  gentleman  would  be  more  mortified  to  ap- 
pear covered  with  filth  and.  rags  than  with  blood 
and  wounds.  This  laft  fituation  would  intereft 
their  pity  ;  the  other  would  provoke  their  laughter. 
The  judge  who  orders  a  criminal  to  be  fet  in  the 
pillory,  difhonours  him:  more  than  if  he  had  con- 
demned  him  to  the  fcaffold.     The  great  prince, 

who? 


Sect.  3.  O/Propriety.  05 

who,  fome  years  ago,  caned  a  general  officer  at  the 
head  of  his  army,  difgraced  him  irrecoverably. 
The  punifhment  would  have  been  much  lefs  had  he 
fhot  him  through  the  body.  By  the  laws  of  ho- 
nour, to  flrike  with  a  cane  difhonours,  to  ftrike  with 
a  fword  does  not,  for  aft  obvious  reafon.  Thofe 
flighter  punifhments  when  inflicted  on  a  gentleman, 
to  whom  dishonour  is  the  greater!:  of  all  evils,  come 
to  be  regarded  among  a  humane  and  generous  peo- 
ple, as  the  moll  dreadful  of  any.  With  regard  to 
perfons  of  that  rank,  therefore,  they  are  univerfally 
laid  afide,  and  the  law,  while  it  takes  their  life  up- 
on many  occafions,  refpecls  their  honour  upon  al- 
moft  all.  To  fcourge  a  perfon  of  quality,  or  to 
fet  him  in  the  pillory,  upon  account  of  any  crime 
whatever,  is  a  brutality  of  which  no  European  go- 
vernment,  except  that  of  Rullia,  is  capable. 

A  brave  man  is  not  rendered  contemptible  by  be- 
ing brought  to  the  fcaffbld;  he  is,  by  being  fet  in 
the  pillory.  His  behaviour  in  the  one  fituation  may 
gain  him  univerfal  efteem  and  admiration.  No  be- 
haviour in  the  other  can  render  him  agreeable.  The 
fympathy  of  the  fpectators  fupports  him  in  the  one 
cafe,  and  faves  him  from  that  fliame,  that  confciouf- 
nefs  that  his  mifery  is  felt  by  himfelf  only,  which  is 
of  all  fentiments  the  moil  unfupportable.  There  is 
no  fympathy  in  the  other ;  or,  if  there  is  any,  it  is 
not  with  his  pain,  which  is  a  trifle,  but  with  his  con- 
icioufnefs  of  the  want  of  fympathy  with  which  this 
pain  is  attended.  It  is  with  his  fhame,  not  with 
his  forrow.  Thofe  who  pity  him,  blufh  and  hang 
down  their  heads  for  him.  He  droops  in  the  fame 
manner,  and  feels  himfelf  irrecoverably  degraded 
by  the  punifhment,  though  not  by  the  crime.     The 

man, 


96  O/Propriety.  Part  L 

man,  on  the  contrary,  who  dies  with  resolution,  as 
he  is  naturally  regarded  with  the  erect  afpect  of  ef- 
teem  and  approbation,  fo  he  wears  himfelf  the  fame 
undaunted  countenance ;  and,  if  the  crime  does 
not  deprive  him  of  the  refpect  of  others*  the  punifh- 
ment  never  will.  He-  has  no  fufpicion  that  his  fili- 
ation is  the  object  of  contempt  or  derifion  to  any 
body,  and  he  can,  with  propriety,  affume  the  air, 
not  only  of  perfect  ferenity,  but  of  triumph  and 
exaltation. 

"  Great  dangers,  fays  the  Cardinal  de  Retz,  have 
"  their  charms,  becaufe  there  is  fome  glory  to  be 
"  got,  even  when  we  mifcarry.  But  moderate  dan- 
"  gers  have  nothing  but  what  is  horrible,  becaufe 
"  the  lofs  of  reputation  always  attends  the  want  of 
"  fuccefs."  His  maxim  has  the  fame  foundation 
with  what  we  have  been  juft  now  obferving  with  re- 
gard to  punifhments. 

Human  virtue  is  fuperior  to  pain,  to  poverty,  to 
danger,  and  to  death ;  nor  does  it  even  require  its 
utmoft  efforts  to  defpife  them.  But  to  have  its  mi- 
fery  expofed  to  infult  and  derifion,  to  be  led  in 
triumph,  to  be  fet  up  for  the  hand  of  fcorn  to  point 
at,  is  a  fituation  in  which  its  conftancy  is  much  more 
apt  to  fail.  Compared  with  the  contempt  of  man- 
kind, all  other  evils  are  eafily  fupported. 


PART 


PART      II. 

Of  Merit  and  Demerit;  of,  of  the  Ob- 
jects of  Reward  and  Punishment. 

Consisting  of  three  Sections. 

SECTION       I. 

Of  the  fenfc  of  merit  and  demerit. 
INTRODUCTION, 


A  HERE  is  another  fet  of  qualities  afcribed  to 
the  actions  and  conduct  of  mankind,  diftinct  from 
their  propriety  or  impropriety,  their  decency  or  un- 
gracefulnefs,  and  which  are  the  objects  of  a  diftinct 
fpecies  of  approbation  and  disapprobation.  Thefe 
are  merit  and  demerit,  the  qualities  of  deferving 
reward,  and  of  deferving  punifhment. 

It  has  already  been  obferved,  that  the  fentiment 
or  affection  of  the  heart,  from  which  any  action 
proceeds,  and  upon  which  its  whole  virtue  or  vice 
depends,  may  be  confidered  under  two  different  af- 
pects,  or  in  two  different  relations :  firft,  in  rela- 
tion to  the  caufe  or  object  which  excites  it ;  and, 
fecondly,  in  relation  to  the  end  which  it  propofes, 

H  or 


98  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

or  to  the  effect  which  it  tends  to  produce  :  that  up- 
on the  fuitablenefs  or  unfuitablenefs,  upon  the  pro- 
portion or  difproportion,  which  the  affection  feems 
to  bear  to  the  caufe  or  object  which  excites  it,  de- 
pends the  propriety  or  impropriety,  the  decency  or 
ungracefulnefs  of  the  confequent  action  ;  and  that 
upon  the  beneficial  or  hurtful  effects  which  the  affec- 
tion propofes  or  tends  to  produce,  depends  the  me- 
rit or  demerit,  the  good  or  ill  defert  of  the  action 
to  which  it  gives  occafion.  Wherein  confifts  our 
fenfe  of  the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  actions,  has 
been  explained  in  the  former  part  of  this  difcourfe. 
We  come  now  to  confider,  wherein  confifts  that  of 
their  good  or  ill  defert. 


CHAP.      I. 

That  whatever  appears  to  be  the  proper  objetl  of  gratitude^ 
appears  to  deferve  reward;  and  that,  in  the  fame  man- 
ner',  whatever  appears  to  he  the  proper  objeB  of  re- 
fentment,  appears  to  deferve  punijhment. 


O  us,  therefore,  that  action  mull  appear  to  de- 
ferve reward,  which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and 
approved  object  of  that  fentiment,  which  mofl  im- 
mediately and  directly  prompts  us  to  reward,  or  to 
do  good  to  another.  And  in  the  fame  manner, 
that  action  muft  appear  to  deferve  punifhment, 
which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object 
of  that  fentiment  which  mofl:  immediately  and  di- 
rectly prompts  us  to  publifli,  or  inflict  evil  upon 
another.         x 

The 


Sect.  I.  Of  Merit  W  Demerit,  gg 

The  fentiment  which  mofl  immediately  and  di- 
rectly prompts  us  to  reward,  is  gratitude;  that  which 
moft  immediately  and  directly  prompts  us  to  punifli, 
is  refentment. 

To  us,  therefore,  that  action  muft  appear  to  de- 
ferve  reward,  which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  ap- 
proved object  of  gratitude  ;  as,  on  the  other  hand, 
that  action  mufl  appear  to  deferve  punifhment, 
which  appears  to  be  the  proper  and  approved  object 
of  refentment. 

To  reward,  is  to  recompenfe,  to  remunerate,  to 
return  good  for  good  received.  To  punifh,  too,  is 
to  recompenfe,  to  remunerate,  though  in  a  different 
manner ;  it  is  to  return  evil  for  evil  that  has  been 
done. 

There  are  fome  other  pafTions,  befides  gratitude 
and  refentment,  which  intereft  us  in  the  happinefs  or 
mifery  of  others  ;  but  there  are  none  which  fo  di- 
rectly excite  us  to  be  the  inftruments  of  either.  The 
love  and  elteem  which  grow  upon  acquaintance  and 
habitual -approbation,  neceffarily  lead  us  to  be  pleafed 
with  the  good  fortune  of  the  man  who  is  the  object 
of  fuch  agreeable  emotions,  and  confequently,  to  be 
willing  to  lend  a  hand  to  promote  it.  Our  love, 
however,  is  fully  fatisfied,  though  his  good  fortune 
mould  be  brought  about  without  our  arTiflance.  All 
that  this  paflion  defires  is  to  fee  him  happy,  without 
regarding  who  was  the  author  of  his  prosperity.  But 
gratitude  is  not  to  be  fatisfied  in  this  manner.  If  the 
perfon  to  whom  we  owe  many  obligations,  is  made 
happy  without  our  affiftance,  though  it  pleafes  Our 
love,  it  does  not  content  our  gratitude.  Till  we 
H  2  have 


ioo        Of  Merit   and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

have  recompenfed  him,  till  we  ourfelves  have  been 
inftrumental  in  promoting  his  happinefs,  we  feel  our- 
felves flill  loaded  with  that  debt  which  his  paft  fer- 
vices  have  laid  upon  us. 

The    hatred   and  diflike,   in  the  fame  manner, 
which  grow  upon  habitual  difapprobation,  would  of- 
ten lead  us  to  take  a  malicious  pleafure  m  the  misfor- 
tune of  the  man  whofe  conduct  and  character  excite 
fo  painful  a  paflion.     But  though  diflike  and  hatred 
harden  us  againfl  all  fympathy,  and  fometimes  dif- 
pofe  us  even  to  rejoice  at  the  diftrefs  of  another,  yet, 
if  there  is  no  refentment  in  the  cafe,  if  neither  we 
nor  our  friends  have  received  any  great  perfonal  pro- 
vocation, thefe  paffions  would  not  naturally  lead  us  to 
wifh  to  be  inftrumental  in  bringing  it  about.     Tho* 
we  could  fear  no  punifhment  in  confequence  of*our 
having  had  fome  hand  it,  we  would  rather  that  it 
fhould  happen  by  other  means.     To  one  under  the 
dominion  of  violent  hatred  it  would  be  agreeable, 
perhaps,  to  hear,  that  the  perfon  whom  he  abhorred 
and  detefted  was  killed  by  fome  accident.    But  if  he 
had  the  leafl  fpark  of  jultice,  which,  though  this  paf- 
fion  is  not  very  favourable  to  virtue,  he  might  flill 
have,  it  would  hurt  him  exceflively  to  have  been  him- 
felf,  even  without  defign,  the  occafion  of  this  misfor- 
tune.   Much  more  would  the  very  thought  of  volun- 
tarily contributing  to  it  fhock  him  beyond  all  meafure. 
He  would  reject  with  horror  even  the  imagination  of 
fo  execrable  a  defign  ;  and  if  he  could  imagine  him- 
felf  capable  of  fuch  an  enormity, .  he  would  begin  to 
regard  himfelf  in  the  fame  odious  light  in  which  he 
had  confidered  the  perfon  who  was  the  object  of 
his  diflike.  But>it  is  quite  otherwife  with  refentment: 

if 


Sect,  i.         0/ Merit  and  Demerit.  ioi 

if  the  peribn  who  had  done  us  fome  great  injury, 
who  had  murdered  our  father  or  our  brother,  for  ex- 
ample, mould  foon  afterwards  die  of  a  fever,  or  even 
be  brought  to  the  fcaffold  upon  account  of  fome  other 
crime,  though  it  might  footh  our  hatred,  it  would  not 
fully  gratify  our  refentment.  Refentment  would 
prompt  us  to  defire,  not  only  that  he  fhould  be  pu- 
nifhed,  but  that  he  mould  be  punifhed  by  our  means, 
and  upon  account  of  that  particular  injury  which  he 
had  done  to  us.  Refentment  cannot  be  fully  grati- 
fied, unlefs  the  offender  is  not  only  made  to  grieve  in 
his  turn,  but  to  grieve  for  that  particular  wrong 
which  we  have  furfered  from  him.  He  muft  be 
made  to  repent  and  be  forry  for  this  very  action,  that 
others,  through  fear  of  the  like  punifhment,  may  be 
terrified  from  being  guilty  of  the  like  offence.  The 
natural  gratification  of  this  paffion  tends,  of  i^s  own 
accord,  to  produce  all  the  political  ends  of  punifh- 
ment ;  the  correction  of  the  criminal,  and  the  exairn 
pie  to  the  public. 

Gratitude  and  refentment,  therefore,  are  the  fenti- 
ments  which  mod  immediately  and  directly  prompt 
to  reward  and  to  punifli.  To  us,  therefore,  he  muft 
appear  to  deferve  reward,  who  appears  to  be  the 
proper  and  approved  object  of  gratitude ;  and  he  to 
deferve  punifhment,  who  appears  to  be  that  of  re- 
fentment. 


H  3  CHAP. 


T>>. 


103  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II, 


CHAP.      II. 


Of  the  proper  objefts  of  gratitude  and  refentment. 


A  0  be  the  proper  and  approved  object  either  of 
gratitude  or  refentment,  can  mean  nothing  but  to 
be  the  object  of  that  gratitude,  and  of  that  refent- 
ment, which  naturally  feems  proper,  and  is  ap- 
proved of. 

Eut  thefe,  as  well  as  all  the  other  paflions  of  hu^ 
man  nature,  feem  proper  and  are  approved  of,  when 
the  heart  of  every  impartial  fpeftator  entirely  fym- 
pathizes  with  them,  when  every  indifferent  by- 
ftander  entirely  enters  into,  and  goes  along  with 
them. 

He,  therefore,  appears  to  deferve  reward,  who, 
to  fome  perfon  or  perfons,  is  the  natural  object  of 
a  gratitude  which  every  human  heart  is  difpofed  to 
beat  time  to,  and  thereby  applaud  :  and  he,  on  the 
other  hand,  appears  to  deferve  punishment,  who 
in  the  fame  manner  is  to  fome  perfon  or  perfons  the 
natural  object  of  a  refentment  which  the  breaft  of 
every  reafonable  man  is  ready  to  adopt  and  fym- 
pathize  with.  To  us,  furely,  that  a&ion  mull  ap- 
pear to  deferve  reward,  which  every  body  who 
knows  of  it  would  wifh  to  reward,  and  therefore 

delights 


Sedt.  i.  Of  Merit  WDemerit.  103 

delights  to  fee  rewarded :  and  that  adtion  rnuft  as 
furely  appear  to  deferve  punifhment,  which  every- 
body who  hears  of  it  is  angry  with,  and  upon  that 
account  rejoices  to  fee  punifhed. 

1.  As  we  fympathize  with  the  jay  of  our  compa- 
nions when  in  profperity,  fo  we  join  with  them  in  the 
complacency  and  fatisfadtion  with  which  they  natu- 
rally regard  whatever  is  the  caufe  of  their  good  for- 
tune.    We  enter  into  the  love  and  affection  which 
they  conceive  for  it,  and  begin  to  love  it  too.     We 
mould  be  forry  for  their  fakes  if  it  was  deftroyed,  or 
even  if  it  was  placed  at  too  great  a  diftance  from 
them,  and  out  of  the  reach  of  their  care  and  protecti- 
on, though  they  fhouid  lofe  nothing  by  its  abfence 
except  the  pleafure  of  feeing  it.     If  it  is  man  who 
has  thus  been  the  fortunate  inflrument  of  the  happi- 
nefs  of  his  brethren,  this  is  ftill  more  peculiarly  the 
cafe.     When  we  fee  one  man  aiiifled,  protected,  re- 
lieved by  another,  our  fympathywith  the  joy  of  the 
perfon  who  receives  the  benefit  ferves  only  to  animate 
our  fellow-feeling  with  his  gratitude  towards    him 
who  bellows  it.     When   we  look  upon  the  perfon 
who  is  the  caufe  of  his  pleafure  with  the  eyes  with 
which  we  imagine  he  muft  look  upon  him,  his  bene- 
factor feems  to  ftand  before  us  in  the  moil  engaging 
and  amiable  light.    We  readiiy  therefore  fympathize 
with  the  grateful  affection  which  he  conceives  for 
a  perfon  to  whom  he  has  been  fo  much  obliged ;  and 
confequently  applaud  the  returns  which  he  is  difpof- 
ed  to  make  for  the  good  offices  conferred  upon  him. 
As  we  entirely  enter  into  the  affection  from  which 
thefe  returns  proceed,   they  neceffarily  feem  every 
way  proper  and  fuitable  to  their  object. 

H  4  2.  In 


104  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II f 

2.   In  the  fame  manner,    as  we  fympathize  with 
the  forrow   of  our  fellow -creature  whenever  we  fee 
his  diftrefs,  fo  we  likewife  enter  into  his  abhorrence 
and  averfion  for  whatever  has  given  occafion  to  it. 
Our  heart,  as  it  adopts  and  beats  time  to  his  grief,  fo 
is  it  likewife  animated  with  that  fpirit  by  which  he 
endeavours  to  drive  away  or  deftroy  the  caufe  of  it. 
The  indolent  and  paflive  fellow-feeling,  by  which  we 
accompany  him  in  his  fufTerings,  readily  gives  way 
to  that  more  vigorous  and  active  fentiment  by  which 
we  go  along  with  him  in  the  effort  he  makes,  either 
to  repel  them,  or  to  gratify  his  averfion  to  what  has 
given  occafion  to  them.     This  is  (till  more  peculiarly 
the   cafe,  when  it  is  man  who    has   caufed  them. 
When  we  fee  one  man  oppreffed  or  injured  by  an- 
other, the  fympathy  which  we  feel  with  the  diftrefs 
of  the  fufferer  feems  to  ferve  only  to  animate  our 
fellow-feeling  with  his  refentment  againfl  the  offend- 
er.    We  are  rejoiced  to  fee  him  attack  his  adverfary 
in  his  turn,   and  are  eager  and  ready  to  aflift  him 
whenever  he  exerts  himfelf  for  defence,  or  even  for 
vengeance  within  a  certain  degree.     If  the  injured 
mould  perifh  in  the  quarrel,  we  not  only  fympathize 
with  the  real  refentment  of  his  friends  and  relations, 
but  with  the  imaginary  refentment  which  in  fancy 
we  lend  to  the  dead,  who  is  no  longer  capable  of 
feeling  that  or  any  other  human  fentiment.     But  as 
we  put  ourfelves  in  his  fituation,  as  we  enter,  as  it 
were,  into  his  body,  and  in  our  imaginations,  in  fome 
meafure,  animate  anew  the  deformed  and  mangled 
carcafs  of  the  flain,  when  we  bring  home  in  this  man^ 
ner  his  cafe  to  our  own  bofoms,  we  feel  upon  this,  as 
upon  many  other  occafions,  an  emotion  which  the 
x  perfon 


Seel:,  i.  Of  Merit  ^Demerit.  105 

perfon  principally  concerned  is  incapable  of  feeling, 
and  which  yet  we  feel  by  anillufive  fympathy  with 
him.     The   fym pathetic   tears  which  we  fhed    for 
that  immenfe  and  irretrievable  lofs,   which  in  our 
fancy  he  appears  to  have  {Villained,  feern  to  be  but  a 
fmallpart  of  the  duty  which  we  owe  him.     The  in- 
jury which  he  has   differed  demands,  we  think,  a 
principal  part  of  our  attention.     We  feel  that  relent- 
merit  which  we  imagine  he  ought  to  feel,  and  which 
he  would  feel,  if  in  his  cold  and  lifelefs  body  there 
remained   any   conlcioufnefs  of  what   paries  upon 
earth.     His    blood,   we  think,   calls  aloud  for  ven- 
geance.    The    very  aihes.  of  the  dead  feem  to  be 
diflurbed  at  the  thought  that  his  injuries  are  to  pafs 
unrevenged.     The   horrors  which  are  fuppoled  to 
haunt  the  bed  of  the  murderer,  the  ghofls  which, 
fuperftition    imagines,   rife  from  their  graves  to  de- 
mand vengeance  upon  thofe  who  brought  them  to 
an  untimely  end,   all  take  their  origin  from  this  na- 
tural  fympathy  with  the  imaginary   refentment  of 
the  (lain.     And  with  regard,  at  lead,  to  this  moft 
dreadful  of  ail  crimes,  Nature,  antecedent  to  all  re- 
flections upon  the  utility  of  punifhment,  has  in  this 
manner    {tamped  upon   the  human   heart,  in  the 
ftrongeft  and  moft   indelible  characters,  an  imme- 
diate and  iniVin&ive  approbation  of  the  jacted  aad 
peceflary  law  of  retaliation. 


C  H  A  P 


io6  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 


CHAP.    III. 


"That  where  there  is  no  approbation  of  the  conduct  of  the 
perfon  who  confers  the  benefit,  there  is  little  fympa- 
thy  with  the  gratitude  of  him  who  receives  it  :  and 
that,  on  the  contrary,  where  there  is  no  difapproba- 
tion  of  the  motives  of  the  perfon  who  does  the  mif chief 
there  is  no  fort  of  fympathy  with  the  refentment  of  him 
isoho  fuffers  it. 


i 


T  is  to  be  obferved,  however,  that,  how  benefi- 
cial foever  on  the  one  hand,  or  how  hurtful 
foever  on  the  other,  the  actions  or  intentions 
of  the  perfon  who  ads  may  have  been  to  the  per- 
fon who  is,  if  I  may  fay  fo,,  aded  upon,  yet  if  in 
the  one  cafe  there  appears  to  have  been  no  propriety 
in  the  motives  of  the  agent,  if  we  cannot  enter  into 
the  affedions  which  influenced  his  condud,  we 
have  little  fympathy  with  the  gratitude  of  the  per- 
fon who  receives  the  benefit :  or  if,  in  the  other 
cafe,  there  appears  to  have  been  no  impropriety 
in  the  motives  of  the  agent,  if,  on  the  contrary, 
the  affections  which  influenced  his  condud  are  fuch 
as  we  muft-  neceflarily  enter  into,  we  can  have  no 
fort  of  fympathy  with  the  refentment  of  the  per- 
fon who  fuffers.  Little  gratitude  feems  due  in  the 
one  cafe,  and  all  fort  of  refentment  feems  unjuft  in 
the  other.  The  <*ne  adion  feems  to  merit  little 
reward,  the  other  to  defer ve  no.punifliment. 

I.  Firfl, 


Sect,  i.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  107 

1 .  Firft,  I  fay,  that  wherever  we  cannot  fympa- 
thize  with  the  affections  of  the  agent,  wherever  there 
feems  to  be  no  propriety  in  the  motives  which  influ- 
enced his  conduct,  we  are  lefs  difpofed  to  enter  into 
the  gratitude  of  the  perfon  who  received  the  benefit 
of  his  actions.  A  very  fmall  return  feems  due  to 
that  fooliih  and  profufe  generofity  which  confers  the 
greater!  benefits  from  the  moft  trivial  motives,  and 
gives  an  eflate  to  a  man  merely  becaufe  his  name  and 
furname  happen  to  be  the  fame  with  thofe  of  the 
giver.  Such  fervices  do  not  feem  to  demand  any 
proportionable  recompenfe.  Our  contempt  for  the 
folly  of  the  agent  hinders  us  from  thoroughly  enter- 
ing into  the  gratitude  of  the  perfon  to  whom  the  good 
office  has  been  done.  His  benefactor  feems  un- 
worthy of  it.  As  when  we  place  ourfelves  in  the 
fituation  of  the  perfon  obliged,  we  feel  that  we  could 
conceive  no  great  reverence  for  fuch  a  benefactor, 
we  eafily  abfolve  him  from  a  great  deal  of  that  fub- 
miflive  veneration  and  efteem  which  we  mould  think 
due  to  a  more  refpectable  character;  and  provided 
he  always  treats  his  weak  friend  with  kindnefs  and 
humanity,  we  are  willing  to  excufe  him  from  many 
attentions  and  regards  which  we  mould  demand  to  a 
worthier  patron.  Thofe  Princes,  who  have  heaped, 
with  the  greateft  profufion,  wealth,  power,  and 
honours,  upon  their  favourites,  have  feldom  excited 
that  degree  of  attachment  to  their  perfons  which  has 
often  been  experienced  by  thofe  who  were  more  fru- 
gal of  their  favours.  The  well-natured,  but  injudici- 
ous prodigality  of  James  the  Firft  of  Great  Britain 
feems  to  have  attached  no  body  to  his  perfon  5  and 
that  Prince,  notwithflanding  his  focial  and  harmlefs 
difpofition,  appears  to  have  lived  and  died  with- 
out 


io8  0/ Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

out  a  friend.  The  whole  gentry  and  nobility  of 
England  expofed  their  lives  and  fortunes  in  the 
caufe  of  his  more  frugal  and  diftinguifhing  fon, 
notwithstanding  the  coldnefs  and  diftant  feverity  of 
his  ordinary  deportment., 

2.  Secondly,  I  fay,  That  wherever  the  conduct 
of  the  agent  appears  to  have  been  entirely  directed 
by  motives  and  affections  which  we  thoroughly 
enter  into  and  approve  of,  we  can  have  no  fort  of 
fympathy  with  the  refentment  of  the  fufferer,  how 
great  foever  the  mifchief  which  may  have  been  done 
to  him.  When  two  people  quarrel,  if  we  take 
part  with,  and  entirely  adopt  the  relent  men  t  of  one 
of  them,  it  is  impoflible  that  we  fhould  enter 
into  that  of  the  other.  Our  fympathy  with  the 
perfon  whofe  motives  we  go  along  with,  and  whom 
therefore  we  look  upon  as  in  the  right,  cannot  but 
harden  us  againft  all  fellow-feeling  with  the  other, 
whom  we  neceiTarily  regard  as  in  the  wrong. 
Whatever  this  lair,  therefore,  may  have  fuffered, 
while  it  is  no  more  than  what  we  ourfelves  fhould 
have  wifhed  him  to  fuffer,  while  it  is  no  more  than 
what  our  own  fympathetic  indignation  would 
have  prompted  us  to  inflict  upon  him,  it  cannot 
either  difpleafe  or  provoke  us.  When  an  inhuman 
murderer  is  brought  to  the  fcarTold,  though  we 
have  fome  companion  for  his  mifery,  we  can  have 
no  fort  of  fellow-feeling  with  his  refentment,  if 
he  mould  be  fo  abfurd  as  to  exprefs  any  againft 
either  his  pirofecutor  or  his  judge.  The  natural 
tendency  of  their  juft  indignation  againft  fo  vile  a 
criminal  is  indeed  the  moll  fatal  and  ruinous  to 
him.     But  it  is  impoflible  that  we   fhould  be  dif- 

pleafed 


Sect,  i.  0/ Merit  and  Demerit.  109 

pleafed  with  the  tendency  of  a  fentiment,  which, 
when  we  bring  the  cafe  home  to  ourfeives,  we  feel 
that  we  cannot  avoid  adopting. 


CHAP.     IV. 


Recapitulation  of  the  foregoing  Chapters. 


w 


E  do  not,  therefore,  thoroughly  and  heartily 
fympathize  with  the  gratitude  of  one  man  towards 
another,  merely  becauie  this  other  has  been  the 
caufe  of  his  good  fortune,  unlefs  he  has  been  the 
caufe  of  it  from  motives  which  we  entirely  go  along 
with.  Our  heart  muft  adopt  the  principles  of  the 
agent,  and  go  along  with  all  the  affections  which 
influenced  his  conduct,  before  it  can  entirely  fym- 
pathize with,  and  beat  time  to,  the  gratitude  of 
the  perfon  who  has  been  benefited  by  his  actions. 
If  in  the  conduct  of  the  benefactor  there  appears 
to  have  been  no  propriety,  how  beneficial  foever  its 
effects,  it  does  not  feem  to  demand,  or  neceflarily 
to  require,  any  proportionable  recompenfe. 

But  when  to  the  beneficent  tendency  of  the 
action  is  joined  the  propriety  of  the  affection  from 
which  it  proceeds,  when  we  entirely  fympathize 
and  go  along  with  the  motives  of  the  agent,  the 
love  which  we  conceive  for  him  upon  his  own 
account,    enhances  and  enlivens  our  fellow-feeling 

with 


no  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  IL 

with  the  gratitude  of  thofe  who  owe  their  profperity 
to  his  good  conduct.  His  actions  feem  then  to 
demand,  and,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  to  call  aloud  for  a 
proportionable  recompenfe.  We  then  entirely  en- 
ter into  that  gratitude  which  prompts  to  beftow  it. 
The  benefactor  feems  then  to  be  the  proper  object 
of  reward,  when  we  thus  entirely  fympathize  with, 
and  approve  of,  that  fentiment  which  prompts  to 
reward  him.  When  we  approve  of,  and  go  along 
with,  the  affection  from  which  the  action  proceeds, 
we  muft  neceffarily  approve  of  the  action,  and  re- 
gard the  perfon  towards  whom  it  is  directed  as  its 
proper  and  fuitable  object. 

2.  In  the  fame  manner,  we  cannot  at  all  fympa- 
thize with  the  refentment  of  one  man  againft  ano- 
ther, merely  becaufe  this  other  has  been  the  caufe 
of  his  misfortune,  unlefs  he  has  been  the  caufe  of  it 
from  motives  which  we  cannot  enter  into.  Before 
we  can  adopt  the  refentment  of  the  fufferer,  we 
muft  difapprove  of  the  motives  of  the  agent,  and 
feel  that  our  heart  renounces  all  fympathy  with  the 
affections  which  influenced  his  conduct.  If  there 
appears  to  have  been  no  impropriety  in  thefe,  how 
fatal  foever  the  tendency  of  the  action  which  pro- 
ceeds from  them  to  thofe  againft  whom  it  is  di- 
rected, it  does  not  feem  to  deferve  any  punifh- 
ment,  or  to  be  the  proper  object  of  any  refent- 
ment. 

But  when  to  the  hurtfulnefs  of  the  action  is  join- 
ed the  impropriety  of  the  affection  from  whence  it 
proceeds,  when  our  heart  rejects  with  abhorrence 
all  fellow-feeling  with  the  motives  of  the  agents 

wc 


Sedt.  i.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit;  hi 

we  then  heartily  and  entirely  fympathize  with  the 
refentment  of  the  fufferer.  Such  actions  feem  then 
to  defer  ve,  and,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  to  call  aloud  for, 
a  proportionable  punifhment  •  and  we  entirely  enter 
into,  and  thereby  approve  of,  that  refentment  which 
prompts  to  inflict  it.  The  offender  neceffarily 
feems  then  to  be  the  proper  object  of  punifhment, 
when  we  thus  entirely  fympathize  with,  and  thereby 
approve  of,  that  fentiment  which  prompts  to  punifh. 
In  this  cafe  too,  when  we  approve,  and  go  along 
with,  the  affection  from  which  the  action  proceeds, 
we  mufl  neceffarily  approve  of  the  action,  and 
regard  the  perfon  againfl:  whom  it  is  directed,  as  its 
proper  and  fuitable  object. 


CHAP. 


ii2  Of  Me  r  i t    and  Dem  er  i  f i  Part  IL 


CHAP.    \f. 


Tbe  analyjis  of  the  fenfe  of  merit  and  demerit, 


■A 


S  our  fenfe,  therefore,  of  the  propriety  of 
conduct  arifes  from  what  I  mall  call  a  direct  fympa- 
thy  with  the  affections  and  motives  of  the  perfon 
who  ads,  fo  our  [enk  of  its  merit  arifes  from  what 
I  (hall  call  an  indirect  lympathy  with  the  gratitude 
of  the  perfon  who  is,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  acted  upon. 

As  we  cannot  indeed  enter  thoroughly  into  the 
gratitude  of  the  perfon  who  receives  the  benefit, 
unlefs  we  beforehand  approve  of  the  motives  of  the 
benefactor,  fo,  upon  this  account,  the  fenfe  of  merit 
feems  to  be  a  compounded  fentiment,  and  to  be 
made  up  of  two  diftinct  emotions  ;  a  direct  fympa- 
thy  with  the  fentiments  of  the  agent,  and  an  indi- 
rect fympathy  with  the  gratitude  of  thofe  who  re- 
ceive the  benefit  of  his  actions. 

We  may,  upon  many  different  occafions,  plainly 
diftinguifh  thofe  two  different  emotions  combining 
and  uniting  together  in  our  fenfe  of  the  good  defert 
of  a  particular  character  or  action.  When  we  read  in 
hiflory  concerning  actions  of  proper  and  beneficent 
greatnefs  of  mind,  how  eagerly  do  we  enter  into 
fuch  defigns  ?  How  much  are  we  animated  by  that 

high- 


Sett.  i.  O/Merit  and  Demerit.  113 

high-fpirited  generofity  which  directs  them  ?   How- 
keen  are  we  for  their  fuccefs  ?   How  grieved  at  their 
difappointment  ?  In  imagination  we  become  the  very 
perfon  whofe  actions  are  reprefented  to  us  :  we  tran- 
fport  ourfelves  in  fancy  to  the  fcenes  of  thofe  diftant 
and    forgotten   adventures,  and  imagine  ourfelves 
acting  the  part  of  a  Scipio  or  a  Camillus,  a  Timole- 
on  or  an  Ariltides.     So  far  our  fentiments  are  found- 
ed upon  the  direct  fympathy  with  the  perfon  who 
atts.     Nor  is  the  indirect  fympathy  with  thofe  who 
receive  the  benefit   of  fuch  actions  lefs  fenfibly  felt. 
Whenever  we  place  ourfelves  in  the  fituation  of  thefe 
lait,  with  what  warm  and  affectionate  fellow-feeling  do 
we  enter  into  their  gratitude  towards  thofe  who  ferved 
them  fo  effentially  ?   We  embrace,  as  it  were,  their 
benefactor  along  with  them.     Our  heart  readily  fym- 
pathizeswith  the  higheft  tranfports  of  their  grateful 
affection.     No  honours,  no  rewards,  we  think,  can 
be  too  great  for  them  to  beftow  upon  him.     When 
they  make  this  proper  return  for  his  fervices,  we 
heartily  applaud  and  go  along  with  them  ;    but  are- 
mocked  beyond  all  meafure,  if  by  their  conduct  they 
appear  to  have  little  fenfe  of  the  obligations  conferred 
upon  them.     Our  whole   fenfe,    in  fhort,  of   the 
merit  and  good  defert  of  fuch  actions,  of  the  proprie- 
ty and  fitnefs  of  recompenfing  them,  and  making 
the  perfon  who  performed  them  rejoice  in  his  turn, 
arifes  from  the  fympathetic   emotions  of  gratitude 
and  love,  with  which,  when  we  bring  home  to  our 
own  breaft  the  fituation  of  thofe  principally  concern- 
ed, we  feel  ourfelves  naturally  tranfported  towards 
the  man  who  could  act  with  fuch  pro]£er  and  noble 
beneficence. 

I  2.  In 


ii4  0/ Merit   and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

2.  In  the  fame  manner  as  our  fenfe  of  the  impro- 
priety of  conduct  arifes  from  a  want  of  fyrnpathy,  or 
from  a  direct  antipathy  to  the  affections  and  motives 
of  the  agent,  fo  our  fenfe  of  its  demerit  arifes  from 
what  I  fhall  here  too  call  an  indirect  fyrnpathy  with 
the  refentment  of  the  fufferer. 

As  we  cannot  indeed  enter  into  the  refentment  of 
the  fufferer,  unlefs  our  heart  beforehand  difapproves 
the  motives  of  the  agent,  and  renounces  all  fellow- 
feeling  with  them  ;  foupon  this  account  the  fenfe  of 
demerit,  as  well  as  that  of  merit,  feems  to  be  a  com- 
pounded fentiment,  and  to  be  made  up  of  two  dif- 
tinct  emotions  ;  a  direct  antipathy  to  the  fentiments 
of  the  agent,  and  an  indirect  fyrnpathy  with  the  re- 
fentment of  the  fufferer. 

We  may  here  too,  upon  many  different  occafions, 
plainly  diftinguifh  thofe  two  different  emotions  com- 
bining and  uniting  together  in  our  fenfe  of  the  ill 
defert  of  a  particular  character  or  action.  'When 
we  read  in  hiflory  concerning  the  perfidy  and  cruelty 
of  a  Borgia  or  a  Nero,  our  heart  rifes  up  againft  the 
deteftable  fentiments  which  influenced  their  conduct, 
and  renounces  with  horror  and  abomination  all  fel- 
low-feeling with  fuch  execrable  motives.  So  far 
our  fentiments  are  founded  upon  the  direct  antipathy 
to  the  affections  of  the  agent  :  and  the  indirect  fyrn- 
pathy with  the  refentment  of  the  fufferers  is  ftill 
more  fenfibly  felt.  When  we  bring  home  to  our- 
felves  the  fituation  of  the  perfons  whom  thofe 
fcourges  of  mankind  infalted,  murdered,  or  betray- 
ed, what  indignation  do  we  not  feel  againft  fuch  in- 
folent  and  inhuman  opprelfors  of  the  earth  ?  Our 

fyrnpathy 


Seel:,  i.  Of  Merit  ^Demerit.  115 

fympathy  with  the  unavoidable  diilrefs  of  the  innocent 
fufferers  is  not  more  real  nor  more  lively,  than  our 
fellow-feeling  with  their  juft  and  natural  refentment. 
The  former  fentiment  only  heightens  the  latter,  and 
the  idea  of  their  diflrefs  ferves  only  to  inflame  and 
blow  up  our  animofrty  againil  thofe  who  occafioned 
it.  When  we  think  of  the  anguifh  of  the  fufferers, 
we  take  part  with  them  more  earneflly  againil  their 
oppreflbrs ;  we  enter  with  more  eagernefs  into  all 
their  fchemes  of  vengeance,  and  feel  ourfelves  every 
moment  wreaking,  in  imagination,  upon  fuch  viola- 
tors of  the  laws  of  iociety,  that  puniihment  which 
Our  fympathetic  indignation  tells  us  is  due  to  their 
crimes.  Our  fenfe  of  the  horror  and  dreadful  atro- 
city of  fuch  conduct,  the  delight  which  we  take  in 
hearing  that  it  was  properly  punifhed,  the  indigna- 
tion which  we  feel  when  it  efcapes  this  due  retaliati- 
on, our  whole  fenfe  and  feeling,  in  fhort,  of  its  ill 
defert,  of  the  propriety  and  fitnefs  of  infii&ing  evil 
upon  the  perfon  who  is  guilty  of  it,  and  of  making 
him  grieve  in  his  turn,  arifes  from  the  fympathetic 
indignation  which  naturally  boils  up  in  the  breaft  of 
the  fpectator,  whenever  he  thoroughly  brings  home 
to  himfelf  the  cafe  of  the  fufferer  *. 

*  To  afcribe  in  this  manner  our  natural  fenfe  of  the  ill  defert 
of  human  actions  to  a  fympathy  with  the  refentment  of  the  fufter- 
er,  may  feem,  to  the  greater  part  of  people,  to  be.  a  degradation 
of  that  fentiment.  Refentment  is  commonly  regarded  as  fo  odious 
a  paffion,  that  they  will  be  apt  to  think  it  impoffible  that  fo  lau- 
dable a  principle,  as  the  fenfe  of  the  ill  defert  of  vice,  fhould  in 
any  refpect  be  founded  upon  it.  They  will  be  more  willing,  per- 
haps, to  admit  that  our  fenfe  of  the  merit  of  good  actions  is  found- 
ed upon  a  fympathy  with  the  gratitude  of  the  perfons  who  re- 
ceive the  benefit  of  them  ;  becaufe  gratitude,  as  well  as  all  the 
other  benevolent  paflions,  is  regarded  as  an  amiable  principle, 
which  can  take  nothing  from  the  worth   of  whatever  is   founded 

I  2  ut>qt\ 


n6  O/Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

upon  it.  Gratitude  and  refentment,  however,  are  in  every  refpect, 
it  is  evident,  counterparts  to  one  another  ;  and  if  our  fenfe  of 
merit  arifes  from  a  fympathy  with  the  one,  our  fenfe  of  demerit  can 
fcarce  mifs  to  proceed  from  a  fellow  feeling  with  the  other. 

Let  it  be  confidered  too  that  refentment,  though,  in  the  degrees 
in  which  we  too  often  fee  it,  the  moil:  odious,  perhaps,  of  all  the 
paffions,  is  not  difapproved  of  when  properly  humbled  and  entirely 
brought  down  to  the  level  of  the  fympathetic  indignation  of  the 
fpectator.  When  we,  who  are  the  byftanders,  feel  that  our  own 
animofity  entirely  correfponus  with  that  of  the  fufferer,  when  the 
refentment  of  this  laft  does  not  in  any  refpect  go  beyond  our  own, 
when  no  word,  no  gefture,  efcapes  him  that  denotes  an  emotion 
more  violent  than  what  we  can  keep  time  to,  and  when  he  never 
aims  at  infliding  any  punilhment  beyond  what  we  mould  rejoice  to 
fee.  inflicted,  or  what  we  ourfelves  would  upon  this  account  even 
defne  to  be  the  inftruments  of  infliding,  it  is  impoflible  that  we 
mould  not  entirely  approve  of  his  fentiments.  Our  own  emotion 
in  this  cafe  mud,  in  our  eyes,  undoubtedly  juftify  his.  And  as 
experience  teaches  us  how  much  the  greater  part  of  mankind  are 
incapable  of  this  moderation,  and  how  great  an  effort  muft  be  made 
in  order  to  bring  down  the  rude  and  undifciplined  impulfe  of  re- 
fentment to  this  faitable  temper,  we  cannot  avoid  conceiving  a 
confiderable  degree  of  efteem  and  admiration  for  one  who  appears 
capable  of  exerting  fo  much  felf  command  over  one  of  the  mod 
ungovernable  paffions  of  his  nature.  When  indeed  the  animofity 
of  the  fufferer  exceeds,  as  it  almoft  always  does,  what  we  can  go 
along  with,  as  we  cannot  enter  into  it,  we  neceffarily  difapprove  of 
it.  We  even  difapprove  of  it  more  than  we  mould  of  an  equal 
exeefs  of  almoft  any  other  paffion  derived  from  the  imagination. 
And  this  too  violent  refentment,  inftead  of  carrying  us  along  with 
it,  becomes  itfelf  the  object  of  our  refentment  and  indignation.  We 
enter  into  the  oppofite  refentment  of  the  perfon  who  is  the  object  of 
this  unjuft  emotion,  and  who  is  in  danger  of  fuffering  from  it. 
P.evenge,  therefore,  the  exeefs  of  refentment,  appears  to  be  the 
moll  deteftable  of  all  the  paflions,  and  is  the  object  of  the  horror 
and  indignation  of  every  body.  And  as  in  the  way  in  which  this 
paflion  commonly  difcovers  itfelf  among  mankind,  it  is  excelltve  a 
hundred  times  for  once  that  it  is  moderate,  we  are  very  apt  to  con- 
fider  it  as  altogether^o-Jious  and  deteftable,  becaufe  in  its  moft  or- 
dinary appearances  it  is  fo.  Nature,  however,  even  in  the  prefent 
depraved  ftate  of  mankind,  does  not  feem  to  have  dealt  fo  unkindly 

with 


Sedt.  i.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  117 

with  us,  as  to  have  endowed  us  with  any  principle  which  is 
wholly  in  every  refpect  evil,  or  which,  in  no  degree  and  in  no  direc- 
tion, can  be  the  proper  object  of  praife  and  approbation.  Upon 
fome  occailons  we  are  fenfible  that  this  pafiion,  which  is  generally 
too  ftrong,  may  likewife  be  too  weak.  We  fometimes  complain 
that  a  particular  perfon  thews  too  little  ipirit,  and  has  too  little 
fenfe  of  the  injuries  that  have  been  done  to  him;  and  we  are  as 
ready  to  defpife  him  for  the  defect,  as  to  hate  him  for  the  excefs  of 
this  paffion. 

The  infpired  writers  would  not  rarely  have  talked  fo  frequently 
or  fo  ftrongiy  of  the  wrath  and  anger  of  God,  if  they  had  regarded 
every  degree  of  thofe  paffions  as  vicious  and  evil,  even  in  fo  weak 
and  imperfect  a  creature  as  man. 

Let  it  be  confidered  too,  that  the  prefent  inquiry  is  not  concern- 
ing a  matter  of  right,  if  1  may  fay  fo,  but  concerning  a  matter  of 
fact.  We  are  not  at  prefent  examining  upon  what  principles  a  per- 
fect being  would  approve  of  the  puniihment  of  bad  actions  ;  but 
upon  what  principles  fo  weak  and  imperfect  a  creature  as  man 
actually  and  in  fact  approves  of  it.  The  principles  which  I  have 
juft  now  mentioned,  it  is  evident,  have  a  very  great  effect  upon  his 
fentiments  ;  and  it  feems  wifely  ordered  that  it  ihould  be  fo.  1  he 
very  exigence  of  fociety  requires  that  unmerited  and  unprovoked 
malice  ihould  be  retrained  by  proper  puniihments  j  and  code- 
quently,  that  to  inflict  thofe  puniihments  mould  be  regarded  as  a 
proper  and  laudable  action.  Though  man,  therefore,  be  naturally 
endowed  with  a  defire  of  the  welfare  and  prefervation  of  fociety, 
yet  the  Author  of  nature  has  not  entrufted  it  to  his  reafon  to  find 
out  that  a  certain  application  of  puniihments  is  the  proper  means 
of  attaining  this  end  ;  but  has  endowed  him  with  an  immediate 
and  inftinctive  approbation  of  that  very  application  which  is  moll 
proper  to  attain  it.  The  ceconomy  of  nature  is  in  this  refpect  ex- 
actly of  a  piece  with  what  it  is  upon  many  other  occafions.  ;  With 
regard  to  all  thofe  ends  which,  upon  account  of  their  peculiar  im- 
portance, may  be  regarded,  if  fuch  an  exprefiion  is  allowable,  as 
the  favourite  ends  of  nature,  fhe  has  conftantly  in  this  manner  not 
only  endowed  mankind  with  an  appetite  for  the  end  which  fhe  pro- 
pofes,  but  likewife  with  an  appetite  for  the  means  by  which  alone 
this  end  can  be  brought  about,  for  their  own  fakes,  and  independent 
of  their  tendency  to  produce  it.  Thus  felf  prefervation,  and  the 
propagation  of  the  fpecies,  are  the  great  ends  which  Nature  feems 
to  have  propofed  in  the  formation  of  all  animals.    Mankind  are 

I  ,  eadowed 


1 1 8  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

endowed  with  a  defue  of  thofe  ends,  and  an  averfion  to  the  contra- 
ry ;  with  a  love  of  life,  and  a  dread  of  diiTolution  ;  with  a  defire 
of  the  continuance  and  perpetuity  of  the  fpecies,  and  with  an  aver- 
fion to  the  thought's  of  its  intire  extinction.  But  though  we  are  in 
this  manner  endowed  with  a  very  ilrong  defire  of  thofe  ends,  it  has 
not  been  intruded  to  the  How  and  uncertain  determinations  of  our 
reafon,  to  find  out  the  proper  means  of  bringing  them  about.  Na- 
ture has  directed  us  to  the  greater  part  of  thefe  by  original  and 
immediate  inftincts.  Hunger,  third,  the  pafiion  which  unites 
the  two  fexes,  the  love  of  pleafure,  and  the  dread  of  pain,  prompt 
us  to  apply  thofe  means  for  their  own  fakes,  and  without  any  con- 
fideration  of  their  tendency  to  thofe  beneficent  ends  which  the 
great  Director  of  nature  intended  to  produce  by  them. 

Before  I  conclude  this  note,  I  mud  take  notice  of  a  difference 
between  the  approbation  of  propriety  and  that  of  merit  or  benefi- 
cence. Before  we  approve  of  the  fentiments  of  any  perfon  as  pro- 
per and  fuitable  to  their  objects,  we  mull  not  only  be  affected  in  the 
fame  manner  as  he  is,  but  we  mull  perceive  this  harmony  and  cor- 
refpondence  of  fentiments  between  him  and  ourfelves.  Thus, 
though  upon  hearing  of  a  misfortune  that  had  befallen  my  friend, 
I  mould  conceive  precifely  that  degree  of  concern  which  he  gives 
way  to  j  yet  till  I  am  informed  of  the  manner  in  which  he  behaves, 
till  I  perceive  the  harmony  between  his  emotions  and  mine,  I  cannot 
be  faid  to  approve  of  the  fentiments  which  influence  his  behaviour. 
The  approbation  of  propriety  therefore  requires,  not  only  that  we 
fhould  intirely  fympathize  with  the  peifon  who  acts,  but  that  we 
mould  perceive  this  perfect  concord  between  his  fentiments  and  our 
own.  On  the  contrary,  when  I  hear  of  a  benefit  that  has  been  be- 
llowed upon  another  peifon,  let  him  who  has  received  it  be  affected 
in  what  manner  he  pleafes,  if,  by  bringing  his  cafe  home  to  myfelf, 
I  feel  gratitude  arife  in  my  own  bread,  1  necelTarily  approve  of  the 
conduct  of  his  benefactor,  and  regard  it  as  meritorious,  and  the  pro- 
per object  of  reward.  Whether  the  perfon  who  has  received  the 
benefit  conceives  gratitude  or  not,  cannot,  it  is  evident,  in  any  degree 
alter  our  fentiments  with  regard  to  the  merit  of  him  who  has  bellow 
ed  it.  No  actual  correfpondence  of  fentiments,  therefore,  is  here  re- 
quired. It  is  fufficient  that  if  he  was  grateful,  they  would  correi- 
pond  ;  and  our  fenfe  of  merit  is  often  founded  upon  one  of  thofe 
illufive  fympathies,  by  which,  when  we  bring  home  to  ourfelves  the 
cafe  of  another,  we  are  often  affected  in  a  manner  in  which  the  per- 
fon principally  concerned  is  incapable  of  being  affected.  There  is  a 
fimilar  difference  between  our  difapprobation  of  dement,  and  that  of 
impropriety.  SEC- 


Sect.  2.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  119 


SECTION    II. 

Of  juftice  and  beneficence, 

CHAP.     1 

Comparifon  of  thofe  two  virtues. 

xxCTIONS  of  a  beneficent  tendency,  which  pro- 
ceed from  proper  motives,  feem  alone  to  require 
reward;  becaufe  fuch  alone  are  the  approved  ob- 
jects of  gratitude,  or  excite  the  fympathetic  gratis 
tude  of  the  fpectator. 

Actions  of  a  hurtful  tendency,  which  proceed  from 
improper  motives,  feem  alone  to  deferve  punifh- 
ment ;  becaufe  fuch  alone  are  the  approved  objects  of 
refentment,  or  excite  the  fympathetic  refentment  of 
the  fpectator. 

Beneficence  is  always  free,  it  cannot  be  extorted 
by  force,  the  mere  want  of  it  expofes  to  no  punifh- 
ment ;  becaufe  the  mere  want  of  beneficence  tends 
to  do  no  real  pofitive  evil.  It  may  difappoint  of  the 
good  which  might  reafonably  have  been  expected, 
and  upon  that  account  it  may  juftly  excite  difiike 
and  difapprobation ;  it  cannot,  however,  provoke 
I  4  any 


l2o  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  IL 

any  refentment  which  mankind  will  go  along  with. 
The  man  who  does  not  recompenfe  his  benefactor, 
when  he  has  it  in  his  power,  and  when  his  benefactor 
needs  his  arnftance,  is,  no  doubt,  guilty  of  the  black- 
eft  ingratitude.     The  heart  of  every  impartial  fpec- 
tator  rejects  all  fellow-feeling  with  the  felfifhnefs  of 
his  motives,  and  he  is  the  proper  object  of  the  higheft 
difapprobation.     But  flill  he  does  no   pofitive  hurt 
to  any  body.     He  only  does  not  do  that  good  which 
in  propriety  he  ought  to  have  done.     He  is  the  ob- 
ject of  hatred,  a  paflion  which  is   naturally  excited  by 
impropriety  of  fentiment  and  behaviour  ;  not  of  refent- 
ment^ paflion  which  is  never  properly  called  forth  but 
by  actions  which  tend  to  do  real  and  pofitive  hurt 
to  fome  particular  perfons.     His  v/ant  of  gratitude, 
therefore,  cannot  be  punilhed.     To  oblige  him  by 
force  to  perform  what  in  gratitude  he  ought  to    per- 
form, and  what  every  impartial  fpectator  would  ap- 
prove of  him  for  performing,  would  if  poflible,  be 
Itill  more  improper  than  his  neglecting  to  perform  it. 
His  benefactor  would  difhonour  himfelf  if  he  attempt- 
ed by  violence  to  conftrain  him  to  gratitude,  and  it 
would  be  impertinent  for  any  third  perfon,  who  was 
not  the  fuperior  cf  either,  to  intermeddle.     But  of  all 
the  duties  of  beneficence,  thofe  which  gratitude  re- 
commends to  us  approach  neareit  to  what  is  called 
a  perfect  and  complete   obligation.     What  friend- 
ship, what  generofity,  what  charity,  would  prompt 
us  to  do  with  univerfal  approbation,  is  (till  more  free, 
and  can  ftill    lefs  be    extorted   by    force  than  the 
duties  of  gratitude.     We  talk  of  the  debt  of  grati- 
tude, not  of  charity,  or  generofity,  nor  even  of  friend - 
fliip,  when  friendfhip  is  mere  efteem,  and  has  not 
been  enhanced  and  complicated  with  gratitude  for 

good  offices. 

Refent^- 


Sect,  a.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  12,1 

Refentment  feems  to  have  been  given  us  bv  na- 
ture for  defence,  and  for  defence  only.  It  is  the 
fafeguard  of  juftice  and  the  fecurity  of  innocence. 
It  prompts  us  to  beat  off  the  mifchief  which  is  at- 
tempted to  be  done  to  us,  and  to  retaliate  that  which 
is  already  done  ;  that  the  offender  may  be  made  to 
repent  of  his  injuftice,  and  that  others,  through  fear 
of  the  like  punifhment,  may  be  terrified  from  being 
guilty  of  the  like  offence.  It  muft  be  refer  ved 
therefore  for  thefe  purpofes,  nor  can  the  fpedator 
ever  go  along  with  it  when  it  is  exerted  for  any 
other.  But  the  mere  want  of  the  beneficent  virtues, 
though  it  may  difappoint  us  of  the  good  which 
might  reafonably  be  expected,  neither  does,  nor  at- 
tempts to  do,  any  mifchief  from  which  we  can  have 
occafion  to  defend  ourfelves. 

There  is  however  another  virtue,  of  which  the  ob- 
fervance  is  not  left  to  the  freedom  of  our  own  wills, 
which  may  be  extorted  by  force,  and  of  which  the 
violation  expofes  to  refentment,  and  confequently  to 
punifhment.  This  virtue  is  juftice  :  the  violation  of 
juftice  is  injury  :  it  does  real  and  pofitive  hurt  to 
fome  particular  perfons,  from  motives  which  are  na- 
turally difapproved  of.  It  is,  therefore,  the  proper 
object  of  relentment,  and  of  punifhment,  which  is 
the  natural  confequence  of  refentment.  As  man- 
kind go  along  with,  and  approve  of,  the  violence 
employed  to  avenge  the  hurt  which  is  done  by  in- 
juftice, fo  they  much  more  go  along  with,  and  ap- 
prove of,  that  which  is  employed  to  prevent  and 
beat  off  the  injury,  and  to  reftrain  the  offender 
from  hurting  his  neighbours.  The  perfon  himfelf 
who  meditates  an  injuftice  is  fenfible  of  this,  and 
feels  that  force  may,  with  the  utmoft  propriety,  be 

made 


122  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II. 

made  ufe  of,  both  by  the  perfon  whom  he  is  about 
to  injure,  and  by  others,  either  to  obitruct  the  ex- 
ecution of  his  crime,  or  to  punifh  him  when  he  has 
executed  it.  And  upon  this  is  founded  that  re- 
markable dirtindion  between  juftice  and  all  the 
other  focial  virtues,  which  has  of  late  been  parti- 
cularly infilled  upon  by  an  author  of  very  great 
and  original  genius,  that  we  feel  ourfelves  to  ba 
under  a  drifter  obligation  to  ad  according  to  juftice, 
than  agreeably  to  friendship,  charity,  or  genero- 
iity  ;  that  the  practice  of  thefe  laft  mentioned  vir- 
tues feems  to  be  left  in  fome  meafure  to  our  own 
choice  but  that,  fomehow  or  other,  we  feel  our- 
felves to  be  in  a  peculiar  manner  tied,  bound,  and 
obliged  to  the  obfervation  of  juftice.  We  feel, 
that  is  to  fay,  that  force  may,  with  the  utmoft  pn> 
priety  and  with  the  approbation  of  all  mankind, 
be  made  ufe  of  to  conftrain  us  to  obferve  the  rules 
of  the  one,  but  not  to  follow  the  precepts  of  the 
other. 

We  mull:  always,  however,  carefully  diftinguifh 
what  is  only  blamable,  or  the  proper  object  of  dif- 
approbation,  from  what  force  may  be  employed  ei- 
ther to  punifh  or  to  prevent.  That  feems  blamable 
which  falls  (hort  of 'that  ordinary  degree  of  proper 
beneficence  which  experience  teaches  us  to  expect 
of  every  body  •,  and  on  the  contrary,  that  feems 
praife-worthy  which  goes  beyond  it.  The  ordinary 
degree  itfelf,  feems  neither  blamable  nor  praife-^ 
worthy.  A  father,  a  fon,  a  brother,  who  behaves 
to  the  correfpondent  relation,  neither  better  nor 
worfe  than  the  greater  part  of  men  commonly  do, 
feems  properly  to  deferve  neither  praife  nor  blame. 
He  who  furprifes  us  by  extraordinary  and  unexpect- 
ed, 


Sedt  2.         0/ Merit  W  Demerit.  123 

ed,  though  (till  proper  and  fuitable  kindnefs,  or  on 
the  contrary,  by  extraordinary  and  unexpected,  as 
well  as  unfuitable  unkindnefs,  feems  praife-worthy  in 
the  one  cafe,  and  blamable  in  the  other. 

Even  the  moil  ordinary  degree  of  kindnefs  or  be- 
neticehce,  however,  cannot,  among  equals,  be  ex- 
torted by  force.     Among  equals  each  individual  is 
naturally,  and  antecedent  to  the  inftitution  of  ci- 
vil government,  regarded  as  having  a  right  both  to 
defend  himfelf  from  injuries,  and  to  exact  a  certain 
degree  of  punilhment  for  thofe  which  have  been 
done  to  him.    Every  generous  fpectator  not  only  ap- 
proves of  his  conduct  when  he  does  this,  but  enters 
fo  far  into  his  fentiments  as  often  to  be  willing:  to 
afliil  him.     When  one  man  attacks,  or  robs,  or  at- 
tempts to  murder  another,  all  the  neighbours  take  the 
alarm,  and  think  that  they  do  right  when  they  run, 
either  to  revenge  the  perfon  who  has  been  injured,  or 
to  defend  him  who  is  in  danger  of  being  fo.  But  when 
a  father  fails  in  the  ordinary  degree  of  parental  af- 
fection towards  a  fon  ;  when  a  fon  feems  to  want  that 
filial  reverence  which  might  be  expected  to  his  father ; 
when  brothers  are  without  the  ufual  degree  of  bro- 
therly affection  •  when  a  man  (huts  his  breaft  againft 
xompafiion,  and  refufes  to  relieve  the  mifery  of  his 
fellow-creatures,  when  he  can  with  the  greater!:  eafe ; 
in  all  theie  cafes,  though  every  body  blames  the 
conduct,    nobody  imagines  that  thofe  who  might 
have  reafon,    perhaps,    to   expect   more   kindnefs, 
have  any  right  to  extort  it  by  force.     The  fufferer 
can  only  complain,  and  the  fpectator  can  intermed- 
dle no  other  way  than  by  advice  and  perfuallon. 
Upon  all  fuch  occafions,  for  equals  to  ufe  force 

againft 


124  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  If. 

againft  one  another,  would  be  thought  the  higheft 
degree  of  infolence  and  prefumption. 

A  fuperior  may,  indeed,  fometimes,  with  univer- 
sal approbation,  oblige  thofe  under  his  jurifdidtion 
to  behave,  in  this  refpect,  with  a  certain  degree  of 
propriety  to  one  another.  The  laws  of  all  civilized 
nations  oblige  parents  to  maintain  their  children, 
and  children  to  maintain  their  parents,  and  impofe 
upon  men  many  other  duties  of  beneficence.  The. 
civil  magistrate  is  entriifted  with  the  power  not  only 
of  preferving  the  public  peace  by  reftraining  injuf- 
tice,  but  of  promoting  the  profperity  of  the  com- 
monwealth, by  eftablifhing  good  discipline,  and  by 
difcouraging  every  fort  of  vice  and  impropriety  ; 
he  may  prefcribe  rules,  therefore,  which  not  only 
prohibit  mutual  injuries  among  fellow  citizens,  but 
command  mutual  good  offices  to  a  certain  degree. 
When  the  fovereign  commands  what  is  merely  in- 
different, and  what,  antecedent  to  his  orders,  might 
have  been  omitted  without  any  blame,  it  becomes 
not  only  blamable  but  punifhabie  to  difobey  him. 
When  he  commands,  therefore,  what,  antecedent 
to  any  fuch  order,  could  not  have  been  omitted  with- 
out the  greateft  blame,  it  furely  becomes  much  more 
punifhabie  to  be  wanting  in  obedience.  Of  all  the 
duties  of  a  law-giver,  however,  this,  perhaps,  is 
that  which  it  requires  the  greater!  delicacy  and  re- 
ferve  to  execute  with  propriety  and  judgment.  To 
neglect  it  altogether  expofes  the  common-wealth  to 
many  grofs  diforders  and  mocking  enormities,  and 
to  pufh  it  too  far  is  deitructive  of  all  liberty,  fe- 
curity,  andjuftice. 

v  Though 


Sect.  2.         Of  Merit  ^Demerit.  125 

Though  the  mere  want  of  beneficence  feems  to 
merit  no  puni  foment  from  equals,  the  greater  ex- 
ertions of  that  virtue  appear  to  deferve  the  higheft 
reward.  By  being  productive  of  the  greatefl  good, 
they  are  the  natural  and  approved  objects  of  the 
livelier*  gratitude.  Though  the  breach  of  juftice, 
on  the  contrary,  expofes  to  punifhment,  the  obfer- 
var.ce  of  the  rules  of  that  virtue  feems  fcarce  to  de- 
ferve any  reward.  There  is,  no  doubt,  a  propriety 
in  the  practice  of  juftice,  and  it  merits,  upon  that 
account,  all  the  approbation  which  is  due  to  pro- 
priety. m  But  as  it  does  no  real  pofitive  good,  it  is 
entitled  to  very  little  gratitude.  Mere  juftice  is, 
upon  moft  occafions,  but  a  negative  virtue,  and 
only  hinders  us  from  hurting  our  neighbour.  The 
man  who  barely  abftains  from  violating  either  the 
perfon,  or  the  eflate,  or  the  reputation  of  his  neigh- 
bours, has  furely  very  little  pofitive  merit.  He 
fulfils,  however,  all  the  rules  of  what  is  peculiarly 
called  juftice,  and  does  everything  which  his  equals 
can  with  propriety  force  him  to  do,  or  which  they 
can  punifh  him  for  not  doing.  We  may  often  fulfil 
all  the  rules  of  juftice  by  fitting  ftill  and  doing  no- 
thing. 

As  every  man  doth,  fo  mall  it  be  done  to  him, 
and  retaliation  feems  to  be  the  great  law  which  is 
dictated  to  us  by  Nature.  Beneficence  and  gene- 
rofity  we  think  due  to  the  generous  and  beneficent. 
Thofe  whofe  hearts  never  open  to  the  feelings  of 
humanity,  ftiould,  we  think,  be  fhut  out  in  the 
fame  manner,  from  the  affections  of  all  their  fellow- 
creatures,  and  be  allowed  to  live  in  the  midft  of  fo- 
ciety,.  as  in  a  great  defert  where  there  is  no-body  to 
care  for  them,  or  to  inquire  after  them.  The  vio- 
lator 


126  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II.. 

latorof  the  laws  of  juftice  ought  to  be  made  to  feel 
himfelf  that  evil  which  he  has  done  to  another ;  and 
fince  no  regard  to  the  fufFerings  of  his  brethren  are 
capable  of  reftraining  him,  he  ought  to  be  over-  awed 
by  the  fear  of  his  own.  The  man  who  is  barely  in-6 
nocent?  who  only  obferves  the  law  of  juftice  with 
regard  to  others,  and.  merely  abftains  from  hurting, 
his  neighbours,  can  merit  only  that  his  neighbours 
in  their  turn  mould  refpecl  his  innocence,  and  that 
the  fame  laws  mould  be  religioufly  obferved  with  re- 


gard to  him 


CHAP.      II. 

Of  the  fenfe  of  juftice,  of  remorfe,  and  of  the  confci* 
oufnefs  of  merit. 

\_  HERE  can  be  no  proper  motive  for  hurting 
our  neighbour,  there  can  be  no  incitement  to  do  evil 
to  another,  which  mankind  will  go  along  with,  ex- 
cept jufl  indignation  for  evil  which  that  other  has 
done  to  us.  To  difturb  his  happinefs  merely  be- 
caufe  it  Hands  in  the  way  of  our  own,  to  take  from 
him  what  is  of  real  ufe  to  him  merely  becaufe  it  may 
be  of  equal  or  more  ufe  to  us,  or  to  indulge,  in  this 
manner,  at'  the  expence  of  other  people,  the  natural 
preference  which  every  man  has  for  his  own  happi- 
nefs above  that  of  other  people,  is  what  no  impar- 
tial fpe&ator  can  go  along  with.  Every  man  is,  no 
doubt,  by  nature}  fir  ft  and  principally  recommend- 
ed to  his  own  care ;  and  as  he  is  fitter  to  take  care 

of 


Sect.  2.         Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  127 

of  himfelf  than  of  any  other  perfon,  it  is  fit  and  right 
that  it  fhould  be  fo.  Every  man,  therefore,  is  much 
more  deeply  interefted  in  whatever  immediately 
concerns  himfelf,  than  in  what  concerns  any  other 
man:  and  to  hear,  perhaps,  of  the  death  of  another 
perfon,  with  whom  we  have  no  particular  connexion, 
will  give  us  lefs  concern,  will  fpoil  our  flomach,  or 
break  our  reft  much  lefs  than  a  very  infignificant 
difafter  which  has  befallen  ourfelves.  But  though 
the  ruin  of  our  neighbour  may  affect  us  much  lefs 
than  a  very  fmall  misfortune  of  our  own,  we  mult 
not  ruin  him  to  prevent  that  fmall  misfortune,  nor 
even  to  prevent  our  own  ruin.  We  muft,  here,  as 
in  all  other  cafes,  view  ourfelves  not  fo  much  ac- 
cording to  that  light  in  which  we  may  naturally  ap- 
pear to  ourfelves,  as  according  to  that  in  which  we 
naturally  appear  to  others.  Though  every  man 
may,  according  to  the  proverb,  be  the  whole  world 
to  himfelf,  to  the  reft  of  mankind  he  is  a  moft  infig- 
nificant part  of  it.  Though  his  own  happinefs  may 
be  of  more  importance  to  him  than  that  of  all  the 
world  befides,  to  every  other  perfon  it  is  of  no  more 
confequence  than  that  of  any  other  man.  Though 
it  may  be  true,  therefore,  that  every  individual,  in 
his  own  breaft,  naturally  prefers  himfelf  to  all  man- 
kind, yet  he  dares  not  look  mankind  in  the  face, 
and  avow  that  he  acts  according  to  this  principle. 
He  feels  that  in  this  preference  they  can  never  go 
along  with  him,  and  that  how  natural  foever  it  may 
be  to  him,  it  muft  always  appear  exceflive  and  ex- 
travagant to  them.  When  he  views  himfelf  in  the 
light  in  which  he  is  confcious  that  others  will  view 
him,  he  fees  that  to  them  he  is  but  one  of  the  mul- 
titude in  no  refpect  better  than  any  other  hi  it.  If 
he  would  ad  Co  as  that  the  impartial  fpectator  may 

enter 


128  Of  Merit  ^Demerit.        Part  II, 

enter  into  the  principles  of  his  conduct,  which  is 
what  of  all  things  he  has  the  greater!:  defire  to  do, 
he  rrtuft,  upon  this,  as  upon  all  other  occafions, 
humble  the  arrogance  of  his  felf-love,  and  bring  it 
down  to  fomething  which  other  men  can  go  along 
with.  They  will  indulge  it  fo  far  as  to  allow  him 
to  be  more  anxious  about,  and  to  purfue  with  more 
earneil  affiduitv,  his  own  happinefs  than  that  of  any 
other  perfon.  Thus  far,  whenever  they  place  them- 
felves  in  his  fituation,  they  will  readily  go  along  with 
him.  In  the  race  for  wealth  and  honours,  and  pre- 
ferments, he  may  rim  as  hard  as  he  can,  and  {train 
every  nerve  and  every  mufcle,  in  order  to  outftrip 
all  his  competitors.  But  if  he  mould  juftle,  or  throw 
down  any  of  them,  the  indulgence  of  the  fpeclators 
is  entirely  at  an  end.  It  is  a  violation  of  fair  play, 
which  they  cannot  admit  of.  This  man  is  to  them, 
in  every  refpecl:,  as  good  as  he  :  they  do  not  enter 
into  that  felf-love  by  which  he  prefers  himfelf  fo 
much  to  this  other,  and  cannot  go  along  with  the 
motive  from  which  he  hurt  him.  They  readily, 
therefore,  fympathize  with  the  natural  refentment 
of  the  injured,  and  the  offender  becomes  the  object 
of  their  hatred  and  indignation.  He  is  fenfiblethat 
he  becomes  fo,  and  feels  that  thofe  fentiments  are 
ready  to  burft  out  from  all  fides  againfl  him. 

As  the  greater  and  more  irreparable  the  evil  that 
is  done,  the  refentment  of  the  fufferer  runs  naturally 
the  higher^  fo  does  likewife  the  fympat'hetic  indig- 
nation of  the  fpeclator,  as  well  as  the  fenfe  of  guilt 
in  the  agent.  Death  is  the  greaterr.  evil  which  one 
man  can  inflict  upon  another,  and  excites  the  high- 
eft  degree  of  refentment  in  thofe  who  are  immedi- 
ately connected  with  the  (lain.     Murder,  therefore, 

is 


Sect.  2  Of  Merit  WDemerit.  129 

is  the  moil  attrocious  of  all  crimes  which  affect  in- 
dividuals only,  in  the  fight  both  of  mankind,  and  of 
the  perfon  who  has  committed  it.  To  be  deprived 
of  that  which  we  are  poifeffed  of,  is  a  greater  evil 
than  to  be  disappointed  of  what  we  have  only  the 
expectation.  Breach  of  property,  therefore,  theft 
and  robbery,  which  take  from  us  what  we  are  pof- 
fefled  of,  are  greater  crimes  than  breach  of  contract 
which  only  difappoints  us  of  what  we  expected. 
The  mofl  facred  laws  of  juftice,  therefore,  thofe 
whofe  violation  feems  to  call  the  loudefl  for  ven- 
geance and  punifhment,  are  the  laws  which  guard 
the  life  and  perfon  of  our  neighbour ;  the  next  are 
thofe  which  guard  his  property  and  poffeflions ;  and 
laft  of  all  come  thofe  which  guard  what  are  called 
his  perfonal  rights,  or  what  is  duetto  him  from  the 
promifes  of  others. 

The  violator  of  the  more  facred  laws  of  juftice 
can  never  reflect  on  the  fentiments  which  mankind 
muft  entertain  with  regard  to  him,  without  feeling 
all  the  agonies  of  fhame,  and  horror,  and  confter- 
nation.  When  his  paflion  is  gratified,  and  he  be- 
gins coolly  to  reflect  upon  his  conduct,  he  can  enter 
into  none  of  the  motives  which  influenced  it.  They 
appear  now  as  deteflable  to  him  as  they  did  always 
to  other  people.  By  fympathizing  with  the  hatred 
and  abhorrence  which  other  men  muft  entertain  for 
him,  he  becomes  in  fome  meafure  the  object  of  his 
own  hatred  and  abhorrence.  The  fituation  of  the 
perfon,  who  fuffered  by  his  injuftice,  now  calls  upon 
his  pity.  He  is  grieved  at  the  thought  of  it;  re- 
grets the  unhappy  effects  of  his  own  conduct,  and 
feels  at  the  fame  time  that  they  have  rendered  him 
the  proper  object  of  the  refentment  and  indignation 

K  of 


130  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  IL 

of  mankind,  and  of  what  is  the  natural  confequence 
of  refentment,  vengeance  and  punifhment.     The 
thought  of  this  perpetually  haunts  him,  and  fills 
him  with  terror  and  amazement.     He  dares  no  lon- 
ger look  fociety  in  the  face,  but  imagines  himfelf 
as  it  were  rejected,  and  thrown  out  from  the  affec- 
tions of  all  mankind.     He  cannot  hope  for  the  con- 
folation  of  fympathy  in  this  his  greateft,  and  mod 
dreadful  diftrefs.     The  remembrance  of  his  crimes 
has  fhut    out    all    fellow-feelings    with   him  from 
the    hearts    of    his   fellow-creatures.      The    fenti- 
ments  which  they  entertain  with  regard  to  him,  are 
the  very  thing  which  he  is  moil  afraid  of.     Every 
thing  feems  hoflile,  and  lie  would  be  glad  to  fly  to 
fome  inhofpitable  defert,  where  he  might  never  more 
behold  the  face  of  a  human  creature,  nor  read  in 
the  countenance  of  mankind  the  condemnation  of 
his  crimes.     But  folitude  is  flill  more  dreadful  than 
fociety.     His  own  thoughts  can   prefent  him  with 
nothing  but  what  is  black,  unfortunate,  and  difafl- 
rous,  the  melancholy  forebodings  of  incomprehen- 
fible  mifery  and  ruin.     The  horror  of  folitude  drives 
him  back  into  fociety,  and  he  comes  again  into  the 
prefence  of  mankind,  aftonifhed  to  appear  before 
them,  loaded  with  fhame  and  dift.rac~t.ed  with  fear, 
in  order  to  fupplicate  fome  little  protection  from  the 
countenance  of  thofe  very  judges,  who  he  knows 
have  already  all  unanimoufly  condemned  him.  Such 
is  the  nature  of  that  fentiment,  which  is  properly 
called  remorfe ;  of  all  the  fentiments  which  can  en- 
ter the  human  breaft  the  moil:  dreadful.     It  is  made 
up  of  fhame  from  the  fenfe  of  the  impropriety  of 
paft  conduct  ;  of  grief  for  the  effe&s.of  it ;  of  pity 
for  thofe  who  fuj~fer  by  it ;  and  of  the  dread  and  ter- 
ror of  punifhment  from  the  confcioufnefs  of  the  juft- 
ly  provoked  refentment  of  all  rational  creatures. 

The 


Sett.  2.  O/Merit  WDemerit.  131 

The  oppofite  behaviour  naturally  infpires  the  op- 
pofite  fentiment.  The  man  who,  not  from  frivo- 
lous fancy,  but  from  proper  motives,  has  perform- 
ed a  generous  action,  when  he  looks  forward  to 
thofe  whom  he  has  ferved,  feels  himfelf  to  be  the 
natural- object  of  their  love  and  gratitude,  and,  by 
fympathy  with  them,  of  the  efteem  and  approba- 
tion of  all  mankind.  And  when  he  looks  back- 
ward to  the  motive  from  which  he  acted,  and  fur- 
veys  it  in  the  light  in  which  the  indifferent  fpectator 
will  furvey  it,  he  dill  continues  to  enter  into  it,  and 
applauds  himfelf  by  fympathy  with  the  approbation 
of  this  fuppofed  impartial  judge.  In  both  thefe 
points  of  view  his' own  conduct  appears  to  him 
every  way  agreeable.  His  mind,  at  the  thought  of 
it,  is  filled  with  cheerfulnefs,  ferenity,  and  compo- 
fure.  He  is  in  friendfhip  and  harmony  with  all 
mankind,  and  looks  upon  his  fellow-creatures  with 
confidence  and  benevolent  fatisfaction,  fecure  that 
he  has  rendered  himfelf  worthy  of  their  molt  favour- 
able regards.  In  the  combination  of  all  thefe  fenti- 
ments  confifls  the  confcioufnefs  of  merit,  or  of  de- 
fer ved  reward. 


K  2  CHAP, 


132        0/ Merit   ^  Demerit.  Part  II. 


CHAP.    III. 

Of  the  utility  of  this  conftitution  of  nature. 


i 


T  is  thus  that  man,  who  cain  fubfift  only  in  fo- 
ciety,  was  fitted  by  nature  to  that  fituationfor  which 
he  was  made.  AH  the  members  of  human  fociety 
ftand  in  need  of  each  others  afliftance,  and  are  like- 
wife  expofed  to  mutual  injuries.  Where  thenecef- 
fary  afliftance  is  reciprocally  afforded  from  love, 
from  gratitude,  from  friendship  and  efteem,  the 
fociety  flourishes  and  is  happy.  All  the  different 
members  of  it  are  bound  together  by  the  agreeable 
bands  of  love  and  affection,  and  are,  as  it  were, 
drawn  to  one  common  centre  of  mutual  good  of- 
fices. 

But  though  the  neceflary  afliftance  fhould  not  be 
afforded  from  fuch  generous  and  difmterefted  mo- 
tives, though  among  the  different  members  of  the 
fociety  there  fhould  be  no  mutual  love  and  affection, 
the  fociety,  though  lefs  happy  and  agreeable,  will 
not  neceffarily  be  diflblved.  Society  may  fubfift 
among  different  men,  as  among  different  merchants, 
from  a  fenfe  of  its  utility,  without  any  mutual  love 
or  affection ;  and  though  no  man  in  it  fhould  owe 
any  obligation,  or  be  bound  in  gratitude  to  any 
other,  it  mayxltill  be  upheld  by  a  mercenary  ex- 
change of  good  offices  according  to  an  agreed  va~ 

luation. 

Society, 


Sedt.  2.         Of  Merit  W  Demerit,  133 

Society,  however,  cannot  fubfift  among  thofe 
who  are  at  all  times  ready  to  hurt  and  injure  one 
another.  The  moment  that  injury  begins,  the  mo- 
ment that  mutual  fefentment  and  ahimofity  take 
place,  all  the  bands  of  it  are  broke  afunder,  and  the 
different  members  of  which  it  condiled  are,  as  it 
were,  diflipated  and  fcattered  abroad  by  the  violence 
and  oppofition  of  their  difcordant  affections.  If 
there  is  any  fociety  among  robbers  and  murderers, 
they  muft  at  leaft,  according  to  the  trite  cbfervation, 
abflain  from  robbing  and  murdering  one  another. 
Beneficence,  therefore,  is  lefs  eilential  to  the  exig- 
ence of  fociety  than  juilice.  Society  may  fubfift, 
though  not  in  the  moft'  comfortable  ftate,  without 
beneficence ;  but  the  prevalence  of  injuftice  muft 
utterly  deflroy  it. 

Though  Nature,  therefore,  exhorts  mankind  to 
ads  of  beneficence,  by  the  pleafing  confcioufnefs  of 
deferved  reward,  flue  has  not  thought  it  neceiTary  to 
guard  and  enforce  the  practice  of  it  by  the  terrors 
of  merited  punifhment  in  cafe  it  mould  be  neglect- 
ed. It  is  the  ornament  which  embellifhes,  not  the 
foundation  which  fupports  the  building,  and  which 
it  was,  therefore,  fufhcient  to  recommend,  but  by 
no  means  neceiTary  to  impofe.  Juftice,  on  the  con- 
trary, is  the  main  pillar  that  upholds  the  whole  edi- 
fice. If  it  is  removed,  the  great,  thejmmenfe  fa- 
bric of  human  fociety,  that  fabric  which  to  raife  and 
fupport  feems  in  this  world,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  to  have 
been  the  peculiar  and  darling  care  of  Nature^  muft 
in  a  moment  crumble  into  atoms.  In  order  to  en- 
force the  obfervation  of  juftice,  therefore,  Nature 
has  implanted  in  the  human  breaft  that  confciouf- 
nefs of  ill-defert,  thofe  terrors  of  merited  punifh- 

K  3  ment 


134  Of  "Merit  and  DemeriT}  Part  II. 

merit  which  attend  upon  its  violation,  as  the  great 
fafe-guards  of  the  affociation  of  mankind,  to  pro- 
ted  the  weak,  to  curb  the  violent,  and  to  chaftife 
the  guilty.  Men,  though  naturally  fympathetic,  feel 
fo  little  for  another,  with  whom  they  have  no  par- 
ticular connexion,  in  companion  for  what  they  feel 
for  themfelves ;  the  mifery  of  one,  who  is  merely 
their  fellow-creature,  is  of  fo  little  importance  .to 
them  in  comparifon  even  of  a  fmall  conveniency  of 
their  own  -,  they  have  it  fo  much  in  their  power  to 
hurt  him,  and  may  have  fo  many  temptations  to 
do  fo,  that  if  this  principle  did  not  {land  up  within 
them  in  his  defence,  and  overawe  them  into  a  re- 
fpect   for   his   innocence,    they    would,    like    wild 
beafts,  be  at  all  times  ready  to  fly  upon  him ;  and 
a  man  would  enter  an  aiTembly  of  men  as  he  enters 
a  den  of  lions. 

In  every  part  of  the  univerfe  we  obferve  means 
adjufted  with  the  nicefl  artifice  to  the  ends  which 
they  are  intended  to  produce;  and  in  the  mecha- 
nifm  of  a  plant,  or  animal  body,  admire  how  every 
thing  is  contrived  for  advancing  the  two  great  pur- 
pofes  of  nature,  the  fupport  of  the  individual,  and 
the  propagation  of  the  fpecies.     But  in  thefe,  and 
in  all  fuch  objects,  we  (till  diftinguifh  the  efficient 
from  the  final  caufe  of  their  feveral  motions  and  or- 
ganizations.    The  digeflion  of  the  food,  the  circu- 
lation of  the  blood,  and  the  ,  fecretion  of  the  feve- 
ral juices  which  are  drawn  from  it,  are  operations  all 
of  them  rieceuary  for  the  great  purpofes  of  animal 
life.     Yet  we  never  endeavour  to. account  for  them 
from  thofe  purpofes  as  from  their  efficient  caufes, 
nor  imagine  that  the  blood  circulates,  or  that  the 
food  digeits  oPks  own  accord,  and  with  a  view  or 

intention 


Sect.  %.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  135 

intention  to  the  purpofes  of  circulation  or  digeftion. 
The  wheels  of  the  watch  are  all  admirably  adjufted 
to  the  end  for  which  it  was  made,  the  pointing  of 
the  hour.  All  their  various  motions  confpire  in  the 
niceft  manner  to  produce  this  effect.  If  they  were 
endowed  with  a  defire  and  intention  to  produce  it, 
they  could  not  do  it  better.  Yet  we  never  afcribe 
any  fuch  defire  or  intention  to  them,  but  to  the 
watch-maker,  and  we  know  that  they  are  put  in  mo- 
tion bv  a  fpring,  which  intends  the  effect  it  pro- 
duces as  little  as  they  do.  But  though,  in  account- 
ing for  the  operations  of  bodies,  we  never  fail  to 
diftinguifh  in  this  manner  the  efficient  from  the  final 
caufe,  in  accounting  for  thofe  of  the  mind^  we  are 
very  apt  to  confound  thofe  two  different  things  with 
one  another.  When  by  natural  principles  we  are 
led  to  advance  thofe  ends,  which  a  refined  and  en- 
lightened reafon  mould  recommend  to  us,  we  are 
very  apt  to  impute  to  that  reafon,  as  to  their  efficient 
caufe,  the  fentiments  and  actions  by  which  we  ad- 
vance thofe  ends,  and  to  imagine  that  to-be  the  wif- 
dom  of  man,  which  in  reality  is  the  wifdom  of  God. 
Upon  a  fuperficial  view  this  caufe  feems  fufficient  to 
produce  the  effects  which  are  afcribed  to  it ;  and  the 
fyftem  of  human  nature  feems  to  be  more  fimple 
and  agreeable  when  all  its  different  operations  are  in 
this  manner  deduced  from  a  fmgle  principle. 

As  fociety  cannot  fubfift  unlefs  the  laws  of  juftice 
are  totally  obferved,  as  no  focial  intercourfe  can  take 
place  among  men  who  do  not  generally  abftain 
from  injuring  one  another ;  the  confideration  of  this 
neceflity,  it  has  been  thought,  was  the  ground  upon 
which  we  approved  of  the  enforcement  of  the  laws 
of  jultice  by  the  punifhment  of  thofe  who  violated 

K  4  them. 


136  Of  Merit  W  Demerit.  Part  II. 

them.     Man,  it  has  been  faid,  has  a  natural  love 
for  fociety,  and  defires  that  the  union  of  mankind 
fhould  be  preferved  for  its  own  fake,  and  though  he 
himfelf  was  to  derive  no  benefit  from  it.     The  or- 
derly and  flourifhing  (late  of  fociety  is  agreeable  to 
him,   and  he  takes  delight  in  contemplating  it.     Its 
diforder  and  confufion,  on  the  contrary,  is  the  ob- 
ject of  his  averfion,  and  he  is  chagrined  at  whatever 
tends  to  produce  it.     He  is  fenfibie  too  that  his  own 
interefl  is  connected  with  the  profperity  of  fociety, 
and  that  the  happinefs,  perhaps  the  prefervation  of 
his  exiitence,  depends  upon  its  prefervation.     Upon 
every  account,  therefore,  he  has  an  abhorrence  at 
whatever  can  tend  to  deftroy  fociety,  and  is  willing 
to  make  ufe  of  every  means,  which  can  hinder  fo 
hated  and  fo  dreadful  an  event.     Injuftice  neceffa- 
rily  tends  to  deftroy  it.     Every  appearance  of  in- 
juftice, therefore,  alarms  him,  and  he  runs,  if  I  may 
fay  fo,  to  ftop  the  progrefs  of  what,  if  allowed  to  go 
on,  would  quickly  put  an  end  to  every  thing  that  is 
dear  to  hirrr.     If  he  cannot  reftrain  it  by  gentle  and 
fair  means,  he  muft  bear  it  down  by  force  and  vio- 
lence, and  at  any  rate  muft  put  a  ftop  to  its  fur- 
ther progrefs.     Hence  it  is,  they  fay,  that  he  often 
approves  of  the  enforcement  of  the  law  of  juftice 
even  by  the  capital  puniftiment  of  thofe  who  vio- 
late them.     The  difturber  of  the   public  peace   is 
hereby  removed  out  of  the  world,  and  others  are 
terrified  by  his  fate  from  imitating  his  example. 

Such  is  the  account  commonly  given  of  our  ap- 
probation of  the  punifhment  of' injuftice.  And  fo 
far  this  account  is  undoubtedly  true,  that  we  fre- 
quently have  occaiion  to  confirm  our  natural  fenfe 
of  the  propriety  and  fitnefs  of  pimifhment,  by  reflec- 
ting 


Sect.  2.  Of  Merit  ^Demerit,  137 

ting  how  neceflary  it  is  for  preferring  the  order  of 
ibciety.  When  the  guilty  is  about  to  fuffer  that 
juft  retaliation,  which  the  natural  indignation  of 
mankind  tells  them  is  due  to  his  crimes ;  when  the 
infolence  of  his  injuftice  is  broken  and  humbled  by 
the  terror  of  his  approaching  punifhment ;  when  he 
ceafes  to  be  an  object  of  fear,  with  the  generous  and 
humane  he  begins  to  be  an  object  of  pity.  The 
thought  of  what  he  is  about  to  fuffer  extinguishes 
their  refentment  for  the  fufferings  of  others  to  which 
he  has  given  occafion.  They  are  difpofed  to  par- 
don and  forgive  him,  and  to  fave  him  from  that  pu- 
nifhment, which  in  all  their  cool  hours  they  had  con- 
fidered  as  the  retribution  due  to  fuch  crimes.  Here, 
therefore,  they  have  occafion  to  call  to  their  aflift- 
ance  the  consideration  of  the  general  intereft  of  fo- 
ciety.  They  counterbalance  the  impalfe  of  this 
weak  and  partial  humanity  by  the  dictates  of  a  hu- 
manity that  is  more  generous  and  comprehenfive. 
They  reflect  that  mercy  to  the  guilty  is  cruelty  to 
the  innocent,  and  oppofe  to  the  emotions  of  com- 
panion which  they  feel  for  a  particular  perfon,  a 
more  enlarged  companion  which  they  feel  for  man- 
kind. 

Sometimes  too  we  have  occafion  to  defend  the 
propriety  of  obferving  the  general  rules  of  juflice  by 
the  confideration  of  their  necelTity  to  the  fupport  of 
fociety.  We  frequently  hear  the  young  and  the  li- 
centious ridiculing  the  mofl  facred  rules  of  morality, 
and  profefling,  fometimes  from  the  corruption,  but 
more  frequently  from  the  vanity  of  their  hearts,  the 
mofl  abominable  maxims  of  conduct.  Our  indig- 
nation roufes,  and  we  are  eager  to  refute  and  ex- 
pofe  fuch  deteftable  principles.     But  though  it  is 

their 


138  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

their  intrinfic  hatefulnefs  and  deteftablenefs,  which 
originally  inflames  us  againfl  them,  we  are  unwil- 
ling to  aflign  this  as  the  fole  reaion  why  we  con- 
demn them,  or  to  pretend  that  it  is  merely  becaufe 
we  ourfelves  hate  and  detefl  them.  The  reaion,  we 
think,  would  not  appear  to  be  conclufive.  Yet 
why  fhould  it  not  >  if  we  hate  and  deteft  them  be- 
caufe they  are  the  natural  and  proper  objects  of  ha- 
tred and  deteftation  ?  But  when  we  are  afeed  why 
we  mould  not  act  in  fuch  or  fuch  a  manner,  the 
very  quefhion  feems  to  fuppofe  that,  to  thofe  who 
afk  it,  this  manner  of  acting  does  not  appear  to  be 
for  its  own  fake  the  natural  and  proper  object  of 
thofe  fentiments.  We  mult  (how  them,  therefore, 
that  it  ought  to  be  fo  for  the  fake  of  fomething  elfe. 
Upon  this  account  we  generally  cafl  about  for  other 
arguments,  and  the  confideration  which  full  occurs 
to  us  is  the  diforder  and  confufion  of  fociety  which 
would  refult  from  the  univerfal  prevalence  of  fuch 
practices.  We  feldom  fail,  therefore,  to  infill  upon 
this  topic. 

But  though  it  commonly  requires  no  great  dif- 
cernment  to  fee  the  deftructive  tendency  of  all  li- 
centious practices  to  the  welfare  of  fociety,  it  is  fel- 
dom this  confideration  which  firfl  animates  us  a- 
gainit  them.  All  men,  even  the  mod  ftupid  and 
unthinking,  abhor  fraud,  perfidy,  and  injuftice,  and 
delight  to  fee  them  punifhed.  But  few  men  have  re- 
flected upon  the  neceflity  of  juftice  to  the  exiftence  of 
fociety,  how  obvious  foever  that  neceflity  may  ap- 
pear to  be. 

That  it  is  not  a  regard  to  the  prefervation  of  fo- 
ciety, which  originally  interefts  us  in  the  punifhment 

of 


Sett.  2.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  1-9 

of  crimes  committed  againfl  individuals,  may  be  de- 
monilrated  by  many  obvious  confiderations.     The 
concern  which  we  take  in  fhe  fortune  and  happlnefs 
of  individuals  does  not,  in  common  cafes,  arife  from 
that  which  we  take  in  the  fortune  and  happinefs  of 
fociety.     We  are  no  more  concerned  for  the  de- 
ftrudtidn  or  lofs  of  a  fingle  man,  becaufe  this  man  is 
a  member  or  part  of  fociety,  and  becaufe  we  mould 
be  concerned  for  the  definition  of  fociety,  than  we 
are  concerned  for  the  lofs  of  a  fingle  guinea,  becaufe 
this  guinea  is  a  part  of  a  thoufand  guineas,  and  be- 
caufe we  mould  be  concerned  for  the  lofs  of  the 
whole  fum.     In  neither  cafe  does  our  regard  for  the 
individuals  arife  from  our  regard  for  the  multitude  : 
but  in  both  cafes  our  regard  for  the  multitude  is 
compounded  and  made  up  of  the  particular  regards 
which  we  feel  for  the  different  individuals  of  which 
it  is  compofed.     As  when  a  fmall  fum  is  nnjuftly 
taken  from  us  we  do  not  fo  much  profecute  the  in- 
jury from  a  regard  to  the  prefer vation  of  our  whole 
fortune,    as  from  a  regard  to  that  particular  fum 
which  we  have  loft ;  fo  when  a  fingle  man  is  injured 
or  deftroyed,   we  demand   the  punifhment  of  the 
wrong  that  has  been  done  to  him,  not  fo  much  from 
a  concern  for  the  general  intereft  of  fociety,  as  from 
a  concern  for  that  very  individual  who  has  been  in- 
jured.    It  is  to  be   obferved,    however,  that  this 
concern  does  not  necelfarily  include  in  it  any  degree 
of  thofe  exquifite  fentiments  which  are  commonly 
called  love,  efreem,  and  affection,  and  by  which  we 
diftinguifh  our  particular  friends  and  acquaintance. 
The  concern  which  is  requifite  for  this  is  no  more 
than  the  general  fellow-feeling  which  we  have  with 
every  man  merely  becaufe  he  is  our  fellow-creature. 
We  enter  into  the  refentment  even  of  an  odious  per- 

fon, 


140  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  PartIL 

ion,  when  he  is  injured  by  thofe  to  whom  he  has 
given  no  provocation.  Our  difapprobation  of  his 
ordinary  character  and  conduct,  does  not  in  this 
cafe  altogether  prevent  our  fellow-feeling  with  his 
natural  indignation  ;  though  with  thofe  who  are  not 
either  extremely  candid,  or  who  have  not  been  ac- 
cuflomed  to  correct  and  regulate  their  natural  fenti- 
ments  by  general  rules,  it  is  very  apt  to  damp  it. 

Upon  fome  occafions,  indeed,  we  both  punifh 
and  approve  of  punifhment,  merely  from  a  view  to 
the  general  intereil  of  fociety,  vvhich,  we  imagine, 
cannot  otherwife  be  fecured.  Of  this  kind  are  all 
the  punifhments  inflicted  for  breaches  of  what  is 
called  either  civil  police,  or  military  difcipline.  Such 
crimes  do  not  immediately  or  directly  hurt  any  |  par- 
ticular perfon ;  but  their  remote  confequences,  it  is 
fuppofed,  do  produce,  or  might  produce,  either  a 
confiderable  inconveniency,  or  a  great  diforder  in 
the  fociety.  A  centinel,  for  example,  who  falls  afleep 
upon  his  watch,  furTers  death  by  the  law  of  war,  be- 
caufe  fuch  carelefTnefs  might  endanger  the  whole  ar- 
my. This  feverity  may,  upon  many  occafions,  ap- 
pear neceifary,  and,  for  that  reafon,  juft  and  proper. 
When  the  prefervation  of  an  individual  is  incon- 
fiflent  with  the  fafety  of  a  multitude,  nothing  can  be 
more  juft  than  that  the  many  mould  be  preferred  to 
the  one.  Yet  this  punifhment,  how  neceflary  fo- 
ever,  always  appears  to  be  excefllvely  fevere.  The 
natural  atrocity  of  the  crime  feems  to  be  fo  little, 
?nd  the  punifhment  fo  great,  that  it  is  with  great 
difficulty  that  our  hearts  can  reconcile  itfelf  to  it. 
Though  fuch  carelefTnefs  appears  very  blamable, 
yet  the  thought  of  this  crime  does  not  naturally  ex- 
cite any  fuch  re"fentment,  as  would  prompt  us  to 

take 


Sect.  2.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  141 

take  fuch  dreadful  revenge.  A  man  of  humanity 
mull  recollect,  himfelf,  mufc  make  an  effort,  and  ex- 
ert his  whole  ftrmnefs  and  refolution,  before  he  can 
bring  himfelf  either  to  inflict  it,  or  to  go  along  with 
it  when  it  is  inflicted  by  others.  It  is  not,  however, 
in  this  manner,  that  he  looks  upon  the  juft  pimifh- 
ment  of  an  ungrateful  murderer  or  parricide.  His 
heart,  in  this  cafe,  applauds  with  ardour,  and  even 
with  tranfport,  the  juft  retaliation  which  feems  due 
to  fuch  deteftable  crimes,  and  which,  if,  by  any  ac- 
cident, they  mould  happen  to  efcape,  he  would  be 
highly  enraged  and  difappointed.  The  very  differ- 
ents  fentiment  with  which  the  fpectator  views  thofe 
different  punifhments,  is  a  proof  that  his  approba- 
tion of  the  one  is  far  from  being  founded  upon 
the  fame  principles  with  that  of  the  other.  He  looks 
upon  the  centinel  as  an  unfortunate  victim,  who,  in- 
deed, mult.,  and  ought  to  be,  devoted  to  the  fafety 
of  numbers,  but  whom  Hill,  in  his  heart,  he  would 
be  glad  to  fave  •  and  he  is  only  forry,  that  the  inter- 
eft  of  the  many  mould  oppofe  it.  Buf  if  the  mur- 
derer mould  efcape  from  puniifiment,  it  would  ex- 
cite his  higheft  indignation,  and  he  would  call  upon 
God  to  avenge,  in  another  world,  that  crime  which 
the  injuftice  of  mankind  had  negle&ed  to  chaftife 
upon  earth. 

For  it  well  deferves  to  be  taken  notice  of,  that  we 
are  fo  far  from  imagining  that  injuftice  ought  to  be 
punifhed  in  this  life,  merely  on  account  of  the  or- 
der of  fociety,  which  cannot  otherwife  be  maintain- 
ed,, that  Nature  teaches  us  to  hope,  and  religion,  we 
fuppofe,  authorizes  us  to  expedt,  that  it  will  be  pu- 
nifhed, even  in  a  life  to  come.  Our  fenfe  of  its  ill 
defert  purfues  it,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  even  beyond  the 

grave, 


142  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

grave,  though  the  example  of  its  pimimment  there 
cannot  ferve  to  deter  the  reft  of  mankind,  who  fee 
it  not,  who  know  it  not,  from  being  guilty  of  the 
like  practices  here.  The  juftice  of  God,  however, 
we  think,  itill  requires,  that  he  mould  hereafter 
avenge  the  injuries  of  the  widow  and  the  fatherlefs, 
who  are  here  lb  often  infulted  with  impunity. 

That  the  Deity  loves'  virtue  and  hates  vice,  as  a 
voluptuous  man  loves  riches  and  hates  poverty,  not 
for  their  own  fakes,  but  for  the  effects  which  they 
tend  to  produce  ;  that  he  loves  the  one,  only  becaufe 
it  promotes  the  happinefs  of  fociety,  which  his  be- 
nevolence prompts  him  to  defire  •,  and  that  he  hates 
the  other,  only  becaufe  it  occafionsthe  miferyof  man- 
kind, which  the  fame  divine  quality  renders  the  ob- 
ject of  his  averfion  ;  is  not  the  doctrine  of  untaught 
nature,  but  of  an  artificial  refinement  of  reafon  and 
philofophy.     Our  untaught,  natural  fentiments,  all 
prompt  us  to  believe,  that  as  perfect  virtue  is  fup- 
pofed  neceilarily  to  appear  to  the  Deity,  as  it  does 
to  us,  for  its  own  fake,  and  without  any  further 
view,  the  natural  and  proper  object  of  love  and  re- 
ward, fo    mult  vice,    of  hatred  and  punifhment. 
That  the  gods  neither  refent  nor  hurt,  was  the  ge- 
neral maxim  of  all  the  different  fects  of  the  ancient 
philofophy :  and  if,  by  refenting,    be  underitood, 
that  violent  and  diforderly  perturbation,  which  often 
diftracts  and  confounds  the  human  breait ;  or  if,  by 
hurting,  be  underitood,  the  doing  mifchief  wanton- 
ly, and  without  regard  to  propriety  or  juftice,  fuch 
weaknefs  is  undoubtedly  unworthy  of  the   divine 
perfection.     But  if  it  be  meant,  that  vice  does  not 
appear  to  the  Deity  to  be,  for  its  own  fake,  the  ob- 
ject of  abhorrence  and  averfion,  and  what,  for  its 

own 


Sect.  2.  Of  Merit  WDemerit.  143 

own  fake,  it  is  fit  and  right  fhould  be  punifhed,  the 
truth  of  this  maxim  feems  repugnant  to  fome  very- 
natural  feelings.  If  we  confult  our  natural  fenti- 
ments,  we  are  even  apt  to  fear,  left,  before  the  ho- 
linefs  of  God,  vice  fhould  appear  to  be  more  worthy 
of  punjfhment  than  the  weaknefs  and  imperfection 
of  human  virtue  can  ever  feem  to  be  of  reward. 
Man,  when  about  to  appear  before  a  Being  of  infi- 
nite perfection,  can  feel  but  little  confidence  in  his 
own  merit,  or  in  the  imperfect  propriety  of  his  own 
conduct.  In  the  prefence  of  his  fellow-creatures,  he 
may  even  juftly  elevate  himfelf,  and  may  often  have 
reafon  to  think  highly  of  his  own  character  and  con- 
duct, compared  to  the  ftill  greater  imperfection  of 
theirs.  But  the  cafe  is  quite  different  when  about  to 
appear  before  his  infinite  Creator.  To  fuch  a  Be- 
ing, he  fears,  that  his  littlenefs  and  weaknefs  can 
fcarce  ever  appear  the  proper  object,  either  of  ef- 
teem  or  of  reward.  But  he  can  eafily  conceive, 
how  the  numberlefs  violations  of  duty,  of  which  he 
has  been  guilty,  fhould  render  him  the  proper  object 
of  averfton  and  punifhment ;  and  he  thinks  he  can 
fee  no  reafon  why  the  divine  indignation  fhould  not 
be  let  loofe  without  any  restraint,  upon  fo  vile  an  in- 
fect, as  he  imagines  that  he  himfelf  mull:  appear  to 
be.  If  he  would  ftill  hope  for  happinefs,  he  fufpecls 
that  he  cannot  demand  it  from  the  juftice,  but  that 
he  muft  entreat  it  from  the  mercy  of  God.  Repent- 
ance, forrow,  humility,  contrition  at  the  thought  of 
his  palt  conduct,  feem,  upon  this  account,  the  fen- 
timents  which  become  him,  and  to  be  the  only 
means  which  he  has  left  for  appeafmg  that  wrath 
which,  he  knows,  he  has  juftly  provoked.  He 
even  diftrufts  the  efficacy  of  all  thefe,  and  naturally 
fears,  left  the  wifdom  of  God  fhould  not,  like  the 

weaknefs 


144  0/ Merit   and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

weaknefs  of  man,  be  prevailed  upon  to  fpare  the 
crime  by  the  moft  importunate  lamentations  of  the 
criminal.  Some  other  interceflion,  fome  other  fa- 
crifice,  fome  other  atonement,  he  imagines  muft  be 
made  for  him,  beyond  what  he  himfelf  is  capable  of 
making,  before  the  purity  of  the  divinejuflice  can  be 
reconciled  to  his  manifold  offences.  The  doctrines 
of  revelation  coincide,  in  every  refpeft,  with  thofe 
original  anticipations  of  nature  -,  and  as  they  teach  us 
how  little  we  can  depend  upon  the  imperfection  of 
our  own  virtue,  fo  they  fhow  us,  at  the  fame  time, 
that  the  moft  powerful  interceflion  has  been  made, 
and  that  the  moft  dreadful  atonement  has  been  paid 
for  our  manifold  tranfgreflions  and  iniquities. 


SEC- 


Sect.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit*  145 


SECTION     III. 


Of  the  influence  of  fortune  upon  the  fentiments  of 
mankind,  with  regard  to  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
actions. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Wi 


HATEVER  praife  or  blarrie  can  be  due  to 
any  action,  mufl  belong  either,  full,  to  the  intention 
or  affection  of  the  heart,  from  which  it  proceeds; 
or,  fecondly,  to  the  external  action  or  movement  of 
the  body,  which  this  affection  gives  occafionto;  or, 
laft,  to  all  the  good  or  bad  confequences,  which  ac- 
tually, and  in  fact,  proceed  from  it.  Thefe  three 
different  things  conilitute  the  whole  nature  and  cir^ 
cumflances  of  the  action,  and  mufl  be  the  foundation 
of 'whatever  quality  can  belong  to  it. 

That  the  two  lalt  of  thefe  three  circumflances  can- 
not be  the  foundation  of  any  praife  or  blame,  is  abun- 
dantly evident ;  nor  has  the  contrary  ever  been  af- 
ferted  by  any  body.  The  external  action  or  move- 
ment of  the  body  is  often  the  fame  in  the^mofl  in- 
nocent and  in  the  molt  blamable  actions.  'He  who 
moots  a  bird,  and  he  who  moots  a  man,  both  of  them 

L-  perform 


146  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II. 

perform  the  fame  external  movement :  each  of  them 
draws  the  tricker  of  a  gun.  The  confequences 
which  actually,  and  in  fact,  happen  to  proceed  from 
any  action,  are,  if  pofiible,  Hi  11  more  indifferent 
either  to  praife  or  blame,  than  even  the  external 
movement  of  the  body.  As  they  depend,  not  up- 
on the  agent,  but  upon  fortune,  they  cannot  be  the 
proper  foundation  for  any  fentirrient,  of  which  his 
character  and  conduct  are  the  objects. 

The  only  confequences  for  which  he  can  be  ari- 
fwerable,  or  by  which  he  can  deferve  either  approba- 
tion or  difapprobation  of  any  kind,  are  thofe  which 
were  fome  way  or  other  intended,  or  thofe  which, 
at  leaft,  fhow  fome  agreeable  or  difagreeable  quality 
in  the  intention  of  the  heart,  from  which  he  acted. 
To  the  intention  or  affection  of  the  heart,  therefore, 
to  the  propriety  or  impropriety,  to  the  beneficence 
or  hurtfulnefs  of  the  defign,  all  praife  or  blame,  all 
approbation  or  difapprobation,  of  any  kind,  which 
can  juflly  be  beflowed  upon  any  action,  mufl  ulti- 
mately belong. 

When  this  maxim  is  thus  propofed  in  abflract  and 
general  terms,  there  is  no  body  who  does  not  agree 
to  it.  Its  felf-evident  jultice  is  acknowledged  by 
all  the  v/orld,  and  there  is  not  a  diffenting  voice 
among  all  mankind.  Ever)- 'body  allows,  that  how 
different  foever  the  accidental,  the  unintended  and 
unforefeen  confequences  of  different  actions,  yet,  if 
the  intentions  or  affections  from  which  they  arofe 
were,  on  the  one  hand,  equally  proper  and  equally 
beneficent,  or,  on  the  other,  equally  improper  and 
equally  malevolent,  the  merit  or  demerit  of  the  ac- 
tions is  itill  the  fame,  and  the  agent  is  equally  the 
fuitable  object  either  of  gratitude  or  of  refentment. 

But 


Sect.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  147 

But  how  well  foever  we  may  feem  to  be  perfuad- 
ed  of  the  truth  of  this  equitable  maxim,  when  we 
confider  it  after  this  manner,  in  abftract,  yet  when 
we  come  to  particular  cafes,  the  actual  confequences 
which  happen  to  proceed  from  any  action,  have  a 
very  great  effect  upon  our  fentiments  concerning  its 
merit  or  demerit,  and  almofl  always  either  enhance 
or  diminifh  our  fenfe  of  both.  Scarce,  in  any  one 
inilance,  perhaps,  will  our  fentiments  be  found,  af- 
ter examination,  to  be  entirely  regulated  by  this 
rule,  which  we  •  all  acknowledge  ought  entirely  to 
regulate  them. 

This  irregularity  of  fentiment,  which  every  body- 
feels,  which  fcarce  any  body  is  fufficiently  aware  of, 
and  which  no  body  is  willing  to  acknowledge,  I  pro- 
ceed now  to  explain ;  and  I  fhall  confider,  firft,  the 
caufe  which  gives  occafion  to  it,  or  the  mechanifnV 
by  which  nature  produces  it ;  fecondly,  the  extent 
of  its  influence;  and,  laft  of  all,  the  end  which  it 
anfwers,  or  the  purpofe  which  the  Author  of  nature 
feems  to  have  intended  by  it. 


Lz  chap: 


143  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II 


CHAP.      I. 


Of  the  caufes  of  this  influence  of  fortune. 


T, 


HE  caufes  of  pain  and  pleafure,  whatever  they 
are,  or  however  they  operate,  feem  to  be  the  objects, 
which,  in  all  animals,  immediately  excite  thofe  two 
paffions  of  gratitude  and  refentment.  They  are  ex- 
cited by  inanimated,  as  well  as  by  animated  objects. 
We  are  angry,  for  a  moment,  even  at  the  ftone  that 
hurts  us.  A  child  beats  it,  a  dog  barks  at  it,  a  cho- 
leric man  is  apt  to  curfe  it.  The  leaf!  reflection,  in- 
deed, corrects  this  fentiment,  and  we  foon  become 
fenfible,  that  what  has  no  feeling  is  a  very  improper 
object  of  revenge.  When  the  mifchief,  however, 
is  very  great,  the  object  which  caufed  it  becomes 
difagreeable  to  us  ever  after,  and  we  take  pleafure 
to  burn  or  deftroy  it.  We  mould  treat,  in  this  man- 
ner, the  inftrument  which  had  accidentally  been  the 
caufe  of  the  death  of  a  friend,  and  we  mould  often 
think  ourfelves  guilty  of  a  fort  of  inhumanity,  if 
we  neglected  to  vent  this  abfurd  fort  of  vengeance 
upon  it. 

We  conceive,  in  the  fame  manner,  a  fort  of  gra- 
titude for  thofe  inanimated  objects,  which  have  been 
the  caufes  of  great,  or  frequent  pleafure  to  us.  The 
failor,  who,  asxfoon  as  he  got  afhore,  mould  mend 
his  fire  with  the  plank  upon  which  he  had  juft  ef- 

caped 


Sect.  3".         Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  149 

caped  from  a  fhipwreck,  would  feem  to  be  guilty 
of  an  unnatural  a&ion.  We  mould  expect  that  he 
would  rather  preferve  it  with  care  and  affection,  as 
a  monument  that  was,  in  ibme  meafure,  dear  to 
him.  A  man  grows  fond  of  a  fnufF-box,  of  a  pen- 
knife, of  a  ftaff  which  he  has  long  made  ufe  of,  and 
conceives  fomething  like  a  real  love  and  affection 
for  them.  If  he  breaks  or  loies  them,  he  is  vexed 
out  of  all  proportion  to  the  value  of  the  damage. 
The  houfe  which  we  have  long  lived  in,  the  tree, 
whofe  verdure  and  (hade  we  ha\*e  long  enjoyed, 
are  both  looked  upon  with  a  fort  of  refpect  that 
feems  due  to  fuch  benefactors.  The  decay  of  the 
one,  or  the  ruin  of  the  other,  affects  us  with  a  kind 
of  melancholy,  though  we  mould  fuflain  no  lofs  by 
it.  The  Dryads  and  the  Lares  of  the  ancients,  a 
fort  of  genii  of  trees  and  houfes,  were  probably  rirft 
fuggefted  by  this  fort  of  affection,  which  the  authors 
of  thofe  fuperflitions  felt  for  fuch  objects,  and  which 
feemed  unreafonable,  if  there  was  nothing  animated 
about  them. 

But,  before  any  thing  can  be  the  proper  object  of 
gratitude  or  refentment,  it  mull  not  only  be  the 
caufe  of  pleafure  or  pain,  it  mult  likewife  be  capa- 
ble of  feeling  them.  Without  this  other  quality, 
thofe  pailions  cannot  vent  themfelves  with  any  fort 
of  fatisfaction  upon  it.  As  they  are  excited  by  the 
caufes  of  pleafure  and  pain,  fo  their  gratification 
confifts  in  retaliating  thofe  fenfations  upon  what 
gave  oceafion  to  them  5  which  it  is  to  no  purpofe  to 
attempt  upon  what  has  no  fenfibility.  Animals, 
therefore,  are  lefs  improper  objects  of  gratitude  and 
refentment  than  inanimated  objects.  The  dog  that 
bites,  the  ox  that  gores,  are  both  of  them  puniflied. 

L3  If 


150  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II, 

If  they  have,  been  the  caufes  of  the  death  of  any  per- 
son, neither  the  public,  nor  the  relations  of  the  (lain, 
can  be  fatisfied,  unlefs  they  are  put  to  death  in  their 
J:urn  \  nor  is  this  merely  for  the  fecurity  of  the  liv- 
ing, but  in  fome  meafure,  to  revenge  the  injury  of 
.the  dead.  Thofe  animals,  on  the  contrary,  that 
have  been  remarkably  ferviceable  to  their  mailers, 
Jbecome  the  objects  of  a  very  lively  gratitude.  We 
are  (hocked  at  the  brutality  of  that  officer,  mention- 
ed in  the  Turkifh  Spy,  who  ftabbed  the  horfe  that 
had  carried  him  a-crofs  an  arm  of  the  fea,  left  that 
animal  mould  afterwards  diftinguifh  fome  ether  per- 
fon  by  a  fimilar  adventure. 

But,  though  animals  are  not  only  the  caufes  of 
pleafure  and  pain,  but  are  alfo  capable  of  feeling 
thofe  fenfations,  they  are  ftill  far  from  being  com- 
plete and  perfect  objects,  either  of  gratitude  or  re- 
fentment ;  and  thofe  paflions  flill  feel,  that  there  is 
fomething  wanting  to  their  entire  gratification.  What 
gratitude  chiefly  defires,  is  not  only  to  make  the 
benefactor  feel  pleafure  in  his  turn,  but  to  make  him 
confeious  that  he  meets  with  this  reward  on  account 
of  his  pa(l  conduct,  to  make  him  pleafed  with  that 
conduct,  and  to  fatisfy  him  that  the  perfen  upon 
whom  he  beftowed  his  good  offices  was  not  unwor-. 
thy  of  them.  What  molt  of  all  charms  us  in  our 
benefactor,  is  the  concord  between  his  fentiments 
.arid  our  own,  with  regard  to  what  intereits  us  fo  near- 
ly as  the  worth  of  our  own  character,  and  the  efteem 
that  is  due  .to  us.  We  are  delighted  to  find  a  per- 
fon  who  values  us  as  well  as  we  value  ourfelves,  and 
diftinguilhes  us  from  the  reft  of  mankind,  with  an 
attention  not  unlike  that  with  which  we  diftinguifh 
ourfelves.  To  maintain  in  him  thefe  agreeable  and  flat- 
tering 


Sect.  3.       .  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  151 

tering  fentiments,  is  one  of  the  chief  ends  propofed 
by  the  returns  we  are  difpofed  to  make  to  him.  A 
.generous  mind  often  difdains  the  interefted  thought 
of  extorting  new  favours  from  its  benefactor,  by 
what  may  be  called  the  importunities  of  its  grati- 
tude. But  to  preferve  and  to  increafe  his  efteem, 
is  an  interefl  which  the  greateft  mind  does  not  think 
unworthy  of  its  attention.  And  this  is  the  founda- 
tion of  what  I  formerly  obferved,  that  when  we 
cannot  enter  into  the  motives  of  our  benefactor, 
when  his  conduct  and  character  appear  unworthy  of 
our  approbation,  let  his  fervices  have  been  ever  fo 
great,  our  gratitude  is  always  fenfibly  diminifhed. 
We  are  lefs  flattered  by  the  diftinction ;  and  to  pre- 
ferve the  efteem  of  fo  weak,  or  fo  worthlefs  a  pa- 
tron, feems  to  be  an  object  which  does  not  deferve 
to  be  purfued  for  its  own  fake. 

The  object,  on  the  contrary,  which  refentment 
is  chiefly  intent  upon,  is  not  fo  much  to  make  our 
enemy  feel  pain  in  his  turn,  as  to  make  him  con- 
fcious  that  he  feels  it  upon  account  of  his  paft  con- 
duct, to  make  him  repent  of  that  conduct,  and  to 
make  him  fenfible,  that  the  perfon  whom  he  injur- 
ed did  not  deferve  to  be  treated  in  that  manner. 
What  chiefly  enrages  us  againfl  the  man  who  in- 
jures or  infults  us,  is  the  little  account  which  he 
feems  to  make  of  us,  the  unreafonable  preference 
which  he  gives  to  himfelf  above  us,  and  that  abfurd 
felf-love,  by  which  he  feems  to  imagine,  that  other 
people  may  be  facrificed  at  any  time,  to  his  conve- 
niency  or  his  humour.  The  glaring  impropriety  of 
this  conduct,  the  grofs  infolence  and  injuftice  which 
it  feems  to  involve  in  it,  often  (hock  and  exafperate 
us  more  than  all  the  mifchief  which  we  have  fuffered. 

L  4  To 


152  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II.  r 

To  bring  him  back  to  a  more  juft  fenfe  of  what  is 
due  to  other  people,  to  make  him  fenfible  of  what 
he  owes  us,  and  of  the  wrong  that  he  has  done  to 
us,  is  frequently  the  principal  end  propofed  in  our 
revenge,  which  is  always  imperfect  when  it  cannot 
accomplim  this.  When  our  enemy  appears  to  have 
done  us  no  injury,  when  we  are  fenfible  that  he  acl- 
ed  quite  properly,  that,  in  his  fituation,  we  mould 
have  done  the  fame  thing,  and  that  we  deferved 
from  him  all  the  mifchief  we  met  with;  in  that  cafe, 
if  we  have  the  leaft  fpark  either  of  candour  or  juftice, 
we  can  entertain  no  fort  of  refentment. 

Before  any  thing,  therefore,  can  be  the  complete 
and  proper  object,  either  of  gratitude  or  refent- 
ment, it  muft  poffefs  three  different  qualifications. 
Firfi:,  it  muft  be  the  caufe  of  pleafure  in  the  one  cafe, 
and  of  pain  in  the  other.  Secondly,  it  muft  be  ca- 
pable of  feeling  thofe  fenfations.  And,  thirdly,  it 
mull  not  only  have  produced  thofe  fenfations,  but 
it  muft  have  produced  them  from  defign,  and  from 
a  defign  that  is  approved  of  in  the  one  cafe,  and 
difapproved  of  in  the  other.  It  is  by  the  firft  quali- 
fication, that  any  object  is  capable  of  exciting  thofe 
pailions :  it  is  by  the  fecond,  that  it  is  in  any  refpect 
capable  of  gratifying  them  :  the  third  qualification  is 
both  neceffary  for  their  complete  fatisfaction,  and  as 
it  gives  a  pleafure  or  pain  that  is  both  exquifite  and 
peculiar,  it  is  likewife  an  additional  exciting  caufe  of 
thofe  paflionsf 

As  what  .gives  pleafure  or  pain,  therefore,  either 
in  one  way  or  another,  is  the  fole  exciting  caufe  of 
gratitude  and  refentment ;  though  the  intentions  of 
any   perfon  fhould  be  ever  fo  proper  and  benefi- 
cent. 


Sect.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  153 

cent,  on  the  one  hand,  or  ever  fo  improper  and  ma- 
levolent on  the  other  -,  yet,  if  he  has  failed  in  pro- 
ducing either  the  good  or  evil  which  he  intended,  as 
one  of  the  exciting  caufes  is  wanting  in  both  cafes, 
lefs  gratitude  feems  due  to  him  in  the  one,  and  lefs 
refentment  in  the  other.  And,  on  the  contrary, 
though  in  the  intentions  of  any  perfon,  there  was 
either  no  laudable  degree  of  benevolence  on  the  one 
.hand,  or  no  blamable  degree  of  malice  on  the  other  j 
yet,  if  his  actions  mould  produce  either  great  good 
or  great  evil,  as  one  of  the  exciting  caufes  takes 
place  upon  both  thefe  occafions,  fome  gratitude  is 
apt  to  arife  towards  him  in  the  one,  and  fome  re- 
fentment in  the  other.  A  fhadow  of  merit  feems  to 
fall  upon  him  in  the  firft,  a  fhadow  of  demerit  in  the 
fecond.  And,  as  the  confequences  of  a&ions  are  al- 
together under  the  empire  of  Fortune,  hence  arifes 
her  influence  upon  the  fentiments  of  mankind,  with 
regard  to  merit  and  demerit. 


CHAP. 


i54  0/ Merit  ^Demerit.  Part  II. 


CHAP.    II. 

Of  the  extent  of  this  influence  of  fortune. 

IHE  effect  of  this  influence  of  fortune  is,  firfl, 
to  diminifh  our  fenfe  of  the  merit  or  dement  of  thofe 
actions  which  aroie  from  the  mofl  laudable  or  blam- 
able  intentions,  when  they  fail  of  producing  their 
propofed  effects  :  and,  fecondly,  to  encreafe  our 
fenfe  of  the  merit  or  demerit  of  actions,  beyond 
what  is  due  to  the  motives  or  affections  from 
which  they  proceed,  when  they  accidentally  give 
occafion  either  to  extraordinary  pleafure  or  pain. 

p 
I.  Firfl,  I  fay,  though  the  intentions  of  any  perfon 
mould  be  ever  fo  proper  and  beneficent,  on  the 
one  hand,  or  ever  fo  improper  and  malevolent,  on 
the  other,  yet,  if  they  fail  in  producing  their  effects, 
his  merit  feems  imperfect  in  the  one  cafe,  and  his 
demerit  incomplete  in  the  other.  Nor  is  this  irregu- 
larity of  fentiment  felt  only  by  thofe  who  are  imme^ 
diately  affected  by  the  confequences  of  any  action. 
It  is  felt,  in  fome  meafure,  even  by  the  impartial 
fpectator.  The  man  who  folicits  an  office  for  ano- 
ther, without  obtaining  it,  is  regarded  as  his  friend, 
and  feems  to  defer ve  his  love  and  affection.  But  the 
man  who  not  "only  folicits,  but  procures  it,  is  more 
peculiarly  confidered  as  his  patron  and-  benefactor, 
and  is  entitled  to  his  refpect  and  gratitude.  The 
perfon  obliged,  we  are  apt  to  think,  may  with  fome 
x  jufYice, 


Sect.  3.  Gf  Merit  and  Demerit.  155 

juftice,   imagine  himfelf  on  a  level  with  the  firft : 
but  we  cannot  enter  into  his  fentiments,  if  he  does 
not  feel  himfelf  inferior  to  the  fecond.     It  is  com- 
mon indeed  to  fay,  that  we  are  equally  obliged  to 
the  man  who  has  endeavoured  to  ierve  us,    as  to 
him  who  actually  did  fo.     It  is  the  fpeech  which  we 
conflantly  make  upon  every  unfuccefsful  attempt  of 
this  kind  ;  but  wtych,   like  all  other  fine  fpeeches, 
muft  be  underftood  with  a  grain  of  allowance.     The 
fentiments  which  a  man  of  generofity  entertains  for 
the  friend  who  fails,  may  often  indeed  be  nearly  the 
fame  with  thofe  which   he  conceives  for  him  who 
iucceeds :  and  the  more  generous  he  is,  the  more 
nearly  will  thofe  fentiments  approach  to  an  exact 
level.     With  the  truly  generous,  to  be  beloved,  to 
be  eiteemed  by  thofe  whom  they  themfelves  think 
worthy  of  efteem,  gives  more  pleafure,    and  thereby 
excites    more    gratitude,     than  all  the   advantages 
which  they  can  ever  expect  from  thofe  fentiments. 
When   they  lofe  thofe   advantages   therefore,  they 
feem  to  lofe  but  a  trifle,  which  is  fcarce  worth  re- 
garding.    They  flill  however  lofe  fomething.   Their 
pleafure  therefore,  and  confequently  their  gratitude, 
is  not  perfectly  complete  :    and  accordingly  if,  be- 
tween the  friend  who  fails  and  the  friend  who  fuc- 
ceeds,  all  other  circumftances  are  equal,  there  will, 
even  in  the  nobleft  and  the  bell  mind,  be  fome  little 
difference  of  affection  in  favour  of  him  who  fuc- 
ceeds.     Nay,  fo  unjuil  are  mankind  in  this  rcfped, 
that  though  the  intended  benefit  mould  be  procured, 
yet  if  it  is  not  procured  by  the  means  of  a  particular 
benefactor,  they  are  apt  to  think  that  lefs  gratitude 
is  due  to  the  man,  who  with  the  beft  intentions  in 
the  world  could  do  no  more  than  help  it  a  little  for- 
ward.    As  their    gratitude  is  in  this  cafe  divided 


among 


156  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Partll. 

among  the  different  perfons  who  contributed  to 
their  pieafure,  a  fmaller  (hare  of  itfeems  due  to  any 
one.  Such  a  perfon,  we  hear  men  commonly  fay, 
intended  no  doubt  to  ferve  us  -,  and  we  really  be- 
lieve exerted  himfelf  to  the  utmoft  of  his  abilities 
for  that  purpofe.  We  are  not,  however,  obliged  to 
him  for  this  benefit ;  fince  had  it  not  been  for  the 
concurrence  of  others,  all  that  he  could  have  done 
would  never  have  brought  it  about.  This  confide- 
ration,  they  imagine,  mould,  even  in  the  eyes  of  the 
impartial  fpectator,  diminifh  the  debt  which  they 
owe  to  him.  The  perfon  himfelf  who  has  unfuccefs- 
fully  endeavoured  to  confer  a  benefit,  has  by  no 
means  the  fame  dependency  upon  the  gratitude  of 
the  man  whom  he  meant  to  oblige,  nor  the  fame 
fenfe  of  his  own  merit  tov/ards  him,  which  he  would 
have  had  in  the  cafe  of  fuccefs. 

Even  the  merit  of  talents  and  abilities  which  fome 
accident  has  hindered  from  producing  Meir  effects, 
feems  in  fome  meafure  imperfect,  even  to  thofe  who 
are  fully  convinced  of  their  capacity  to  produce 
them.  The  general  who  has  been  hindered  by  the 
envy  of  miniflers  from  gaining  fome  great  advan- 
tage over  the  enemies  of  his  country,  regrets  the 
lofs  of  the  opportunity  for  ever  after.  Nor  is  it 
only  upon  account  of  the  public  that  he  regrets  it. 
He  laments  that  he  was  hindered  from  performing 
an  action  which  would  have  added  a  new  luftre  to 
his  character  in  his  own  eyes,  as  well  as  in  thofe  of 
every  other  perfpn.  It  fatisfies  neither  himfelf  nor 
others  to  reflect  that  the  plan  or  defign  was  all  that 
depended  on  him,  that  no  greater  capacity  was  re- 
quired to  execute  it  than  what  was  necelfary  to  con- 
cert it  :  that  he  was  avowed  to  be  every  way  capa- 
ble 


Seel.  3.         Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  157 

ble  of  executing  it,  and  that  had  he  been  permitted 
to  go  on,  fuccefs  was  infallible.  He  ftill  did  not 
execute  it ;  and  though  he  might  deferve  all  the  ap- 
probation which  is  due  to  a  magnanimous  and  great 
deiign,  he  ftill  wanted  the  actual  merit  of  having 
performed  a  great  action.  To  take  the  management 
of  any  affair  of  public  concern  from  the  man  who  has 
almofl  brought  it  to  a  conclufion,  is  regarded  as  the 
moft  invidious  injuftice.  As  he  had  done  fomuch, 
he  mould,  we  think,  have  been  allowed  to  acquire 
the  complete  merit  of  putting  an  end  to  it.  It  was 
objected  to  Pompey,  that  he  came  in  upon  the  victo- 
ries of  Lucullus,  and  gathered  thofe  laurels  which 
were  due  to  the  fortune  and  valour  of  another.  The 
glory  of  Lucullus,  it  feems,  was  lefs  complete  even 
in  the  opinion  of  his  own  friends,  when  he  was  not 
permitted  to  finiih  that  conquelt  which  his  conduct 
and  courage  had  put  in  the  power  of  almofl  any  man 
to  finifh.  it  mortifies  an  architect  when  his  plans  are 
either  not  executed  at  all,  or  when  they  are  fo  far  al- 
tered as  to  fpoil  the  effect  of  the  building.  The  plan, 
however,  is  all  that  depends  upon  the  architect.  The 
whole  of  his  genius  is,  to  good  judges,  as  complete- 
ly difcovered  in  that  as  in  the  actual  execution.  But 
a  plan  does  not,  even  to  the  mod  intelligent,  give 
the  fame  pleafure  as  a  noble  and  magnificent  build- 
ing. They  may  difcover  as  much  both  of  tafte  and 
genius  in  the  one  as  in  the  other.  But  their  effects 
are  ftill  vaftly  different,  and  the  amufement  derived 
from  the  fir/ft,  never  approaches  to  the  wonder  and 
admiration  which  are  fometimes  excited  by  the  fe- 
cond.  We  may  believe  of  many  men,  that  their 
talents  are  fuperior  to  thofe  of  Caefar  and  Alexander ; 
and  that  in  the  fame  fituations  they  would  perform 
ftill  greater  actions.     In  the  mean  time,  however, 

we 


158  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II. 

we  do  not  behold  them  with  that  aftonifnment  and 
admiration  with  whidh  thofe  two  heroes  have  been 
regarded  in  all  ages  and  nations.  The  calm  judg- 
ments of  the  mind  may  approve  of  them  more,  but 
they  want  the  fplendor  of  great  actions  to  dazzle  and 
tranfport  it.  The  fuperiority  of  virtues  and  talents 
have  not,  even  upon  thole  who  acknowledge  that 
fuperiority,  the  fame  effect  with  the  fuperiority  of 
atchievements. 

As  the  merit  of  an  unfuccefsful  attempt  to  do  good 
feems  thus,  m  the  eyes  of  ungrateful  mankind, 
to  be  diminifhed  by  the  mifcarriage,  fo  does  like- 
wife  the  demerit  of  an  unfuccefsful  attempt  to  do  evil. 
The  defign  to  commit  a  crime,  how  clearly  foever 
it  may  be  proved,  is  fcarce  ever  punifhed  with  the 
fame  feverity  as  the  actual  commiflion  of  it.  The 
cafe  of  treafon  is  perhaps  the  only  exception.  That 
crime  immediately  affecting  the  being  of  the  govern- 
ment itfelf,  the  government  is  naturally  more  jealous 
of  it  than  of  any  other.  In  the  punifhment  of  trea- 
fon, the  fovereign  refents  the  injuries  which  are  im- 
mediately done  to  hirhfelf  :  in  the  puniftiment  of 
other  crimes,  he  refents  thofe  which  are  done  to  other 
men.  It  is  his  own  refentment  which  he  indulges  in 
the  one  cafe  :  it  is  that  of  his  fubjects  which  by 
f\mpathy  he  enters  into  it  in  the  other.  In  the 
hi  ft  cafe,  therefore,  as  he  judges  in  his  own  caufe, 
he  is  very  apt  to  be  more  violent  and  fanguinary  in 
his  punifhments  than  the  impartial  fpectator  can  ap- 
|  >i  (;v  c  of.  His  refentment  too  rifes  here  upon  fmaller 
occafions,  and  does  not  always,  as  in  other  cafes, 
wait  for  the  perpetration  of  the  crime,  or  even  for 
the  attempt  to  commit  it.  A  treafonable  concert, 
though  nothing  has  been  done,  or  even  attempted  in 
6  nfequenceof  it,  nay,  a  treafonable  converfation, 

is 


Sect.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  159 

is  in  many  countries  punilhed  in  the  fame  manner  as 
the  actual  commiirion  of  treafon.  With  regard  to 
all  other  crimes,  the  mere  defign,  upon  which  no 
attempt  has  followed,  is  feldom  punilhed  at  all,  and 
is  never  punilhed  feverely.  A  criminal  defign,  and 
a  criminal  aclion,  it  may  be  faid  indeed,  do  not  ne- 
ceMarily  fuppofe  the  fame  degree  of  depravity,  and 
ought  not  therefore  to  be  fubjedted  to  the  fame  pu- 
nifhment.  We  are  capable,  it  may  belaid,  ofre- 
folving,  and  even  of  taking  meafures  to  execute, 
many  things  which,  when  it  comes  to  the  point,  we 
feel  ourfelves  altogether  incapable  of  executing. 
Bat  this  reafon  can  have  no  place  when  the  de- 
fign has  been  carried  the  length  of  the  lad  attempt. 
The  man,  however,  who  fires  a  piftol  at  his  enemy, 
but  miffes  him,  is  punidied  with  death  by  the  laws 
of  fcarce  any  country.  By  the  old  law  of  Scotland, 
though  he  mould  wound  him,  yet,  unlefs  death  en- 
fues  within  a  certain  time,  the  allanm  is  not  liable  to 
the  laft  punifhment,  The  refentment  of  mankind, 
'  however,  runs  fo  high  againfl  this  crime,  their  terror 
for  the  man  who  mows  himfelf  capable  of  commit- 
ting it,  is  fo  great,  that  the  mere  attempt  to  commit 
it  ought  in  all  countries  to  be  capital.  The  attempt 
to  commit  fmaller  crimes  is  almoft  always  punilhed 
very  lightly,  and  fometimes  is  not  punilhed  at  all. 
The  thief,  whofe  hand  has  been  caught  in  his  neigh- 
bour's pocket^before  he  had  taken  any  thing  out  of 
it,  is  punilhed  with  ignominy  only.  If  he  had  got 
time  to  take  away  an  handkerchief,  he  would  have 
been  put  to  death.  The  houfe-breaker,  who  has 
been  found  fetting  a  ladder  to  his  neighbour's  win- 
dow, but  had  not  got  into  it,  is  notexpofed  to  the 
capital  punifhment.  The  attempt  to  ravifh  is  not 
punilhed  as  a  rape.  The  attempt  to  feduce  a  mar- 
ried 


160  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II. 

ried  woman  is  not  punifhed  at  all,  though  reduction 
is  punifhed  feverely.     Our  refentment  againft  the 
perfon  who  only  attempted  to  do  a  mifchief,  is  fel- 
dom  fo  ftrong  as  to  bear  us  out  in  inflicting  the  fame 
punifhment  upon  him,  which  we  mould  have  thought 
due  if  he  had  actually  done  it.     In  the  one  cafe,  the- 
joy  of  our  deliverance  alleviates  our  fenfe  of  the  atro- 
city of  his  conduct  ;   in  the  other,    the  grief  of  our 
misfortune  increafes  it.     His  real  demerit,  however, 
is  undoubtedly  the  fame  in  both  cafes,  fince  his  inten- 
tions were  equally  criminal  :  and  there  is  in  this  ref- 
pect,  therefore,    an  irregularity  in  the  fentiments  of 
all  men,  and  a  confequent  relaxation  of  difcipline  in 
the  laws  of,  I  believe,  all  nations,  of  the  moil  civiliz- 
ed, as  well  as  of  the  mofl  barbarous.      Thu  humani- 
ty of  a  civilized  people  difpofes  them  either  to  difpenfe 
with,  or  to  mitigate  punifhments  wherever  their  natu- 
ral indignation  is  not  goaded  on  by  the  confequences 
of  the  crime.     Barbarians,  on  the  other  hand,  when 
no  actual  confequence  has  happened  from  any  action, 
are  not  apt  to  be  very  delicate  or  inquifitive  about  . 
the  motives. 

The    perfon  himfelf  who  either  from  paffion,  or 
from  the  influence  of  bad  company,    has   refolved? 
and  perhaps  taken  meafures  to    perpetrate    fome 
crime,  but  who  has  fortunately  been  prevented  by 
an  accident  which  put  it  out  of  his  power,  is  fure,  if 
he  has  any  remains  of  conference,    to  regard  this 
event  all  his  life  after  as  a  great  and  fignal  delive- 
rance.    He  can  never  think  of  it  without  returning 
thanks  to  Heaven  for  having  been  thus  gracioufly 
pleafed  to  fave  him  from  the  guilt  in  which  he  was 
juft  ready  to  plunge  himfelf,  and  to  hinder  him  from 
rendering  all  the  relTbf  his  life  a  fcene  of  horror,  re- 
morfe,  and  repentance.     But  though  his  hands  are 

innocent, 


Sect.  3  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  i£| 

innocent,  he  is  confcious  that  his  heart  is  equally 
guilty  as  if  he  had  actually  executed  what  he  was  fo 
fully  refolved  upon.  It  gives  great  eafe  to  his  con- 
fcience,  however,  to  confider  that  the  crime  was  not 
executed,  though  he  knows  that  the  failure  arofe 
from- no  virtue  in  him.  He  ftill  confiders  himfelf 
as  lefs  deferving  of  punifhment  and  refentment ;  and 
this  good  fortune  either  diminifhes,  or  takes  away 
altogether,  all  fenfe  of  guilt.  To  remember  how 
much  he  was  refolved  upon  it,  has  no  other  effect  than 
to  make  him  regard  his  efcape  as  the  greater  and 
more  miraculous  ■  for  he  ftill  fancies  that  he  has  es- 
caped, and  he  looks  back  upon  the  danger  to  which 
his  peace  of  mind  was  expo  fed,  with  that  terror, 
with  which  one  who  is  in  fafety  may  fometimes  re- 
member the  hazard  he  was  in  of  falling  over  a  pre- 
cipice, and  fhudder  with  horror  at  the  thought. 

2.  The  fecond  effect  of  this  influence  of  fortune, 
is  to  increafe  our  fenfe  of  the  merit  or  demerit  of 
actions  beyond  what  is  due  to  the  motives  or  affecti- 
on from  which  they  proceed,  when  they  happen  to 
give  occafion  to  extraordinary  pleafure  or  pain.  The 
agreeable  or  difagreeable  effects  of  the  action  often 
throw  a  fhadow  of  merit  or  demerit  upon  the  agent, 
though  in  his  intention  there  was  nothing  that  de- 
ferved  either  praife  or  blame,  or  atleaft  that  deferved 
them  in  the  degree  in  which  we  are  apt  to  beflow 
them.  Thus,  even  the  meflenger  of  bad  news  is 
difagreeable  to  us,  and,  on  the  contrary,  we  feel  a 
fort  of  gratitude  for  the  man  who  brings  us  good 
tidings.  For  a  moment  we  look  upon  them  both 
as  the  authors,  the  one  of  cur  good,  the  other  of  our 
bad  fortune,  and  regard  them  in  fome  meafure  as 
if  they  had  really  brought  about  the  events  which 

M  they 


i6z  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

they  only  give  an  account  of.  The  firft  author  of 
our  joy  is  naturally  the  object  of  a  tranfit-ry  grati- 
tude :  we  embrace  him  with  warmth  and  affection, 
and  mould  be  glad,  during  the  inttant  of  our  profpe- 
rity,  to  reward  him  as  for  fome  fignal  fervice.  By 
the  cuftom  of  all  courts,  the  officer  who  brings  the 
news  of  a  victory,  is  entitled,  to  confiderable  prefer- 
ments, and  the  general  always  chufes  one  of  his 
principal  favourites  to  go  upon  fo  agieeable  an  er- 
rand. The  firft  author  of  our  forrow  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, juft  as  naturally  the  object  of  a  tranfitory  re- 
fentment.  We  can  fcarce  avoid  looking  upon  him 
with  chagrin  and  uneafinefs  ;  and  the  rude  and  bru- 
tal are  apt  to  vent  upon  him  that  ipleen  which  his  in- 
telligence gives  occalion  to.  Tigranes,  King  of 
Armenia,  ftruck  off  the  head  of  the  man  who  brought 
him  the  firft  account  of  the  approach  of  a  formida- 
ble enemy.  To  punifh  in  this  manner  the  author  of 
bad  tidings,  feems  barbarous  and  inhuman  ;  yet,  to 
reward  the  meflenger  of  good  news,  is  not  disagree- 
able to  us  i  we  think  it  fui table  to  the  bounty  of 
kings.  But  why  do  we  make  this  difference,  fince, 
if  there  is  no  fault  in  the  one,  neither  is  there  any 
merit  in  the  other  ?  It  is  becaufe  any  fort  of  reafon 
feems  fufficient  to  authorize  the  exertion  of  the  focial 
and  benevolent  affections  -,  but  it  requires  the  moft 
folid  and  fubftantial  to  make  us  enter  into  that  of  the 
unfocial  and  malevolent. 

But  though  in  general  we  are  averfe  to  enter  into 
the  unfocial  and  malevolent  affections,  though  we 
lay  it  down  for  a  rule  that  we  ought  never  to  approve 
of  their  gratification,  unlefs  fo  far  as  the  malicious 
and  unjuft  intention  of  the  perfon,  againft  whom 
they  are  directed  Fenders  him  their  proper  object  -, 

yet, 


Se6\.  3.  Of  Merit  W  Demerit.  l6s 

yet  upon  fome  occafions,  we  relax  of  this  feverity 
When  the  negligence  of  one  man  has  occafioned 
fome  unintended  damage  to  another,  we  generally 
enter  fo  far  into  the  refentment  of  the  fufFerer  as  to 
approve  of  his  inflicling  a  punimment  upon  the  of- 
fender much  beyond  what  the  offence  will  have  ap- 
peared to  deferve,  had  no  fuch  unlucky  confe- 
quence  followed  from  it. 

There  is  a  degree  of  negligence,  which  would  ap- 
pear to  deferve  fome  chaftifement  though  it  mould 
occafion  no  damage  to  any  body.  Thus,  if  a  perfon 
fhould  throw  a  large  ftone  over  a  wall  into  a  public 
itreet  without  giving  warning  to  thofe  who  might  be 
pafling  by,  and  without  regarding  where  it  was  like- 
ly to  fall,  he  would  undoubtedly  deferve  fome  chaf- 
tifement. A  very  accurate  police  would  punim  fo 
abfurd  an  acYion,  even  though  it  had  done  no  mif- 
chief.  The  perfon  who  has  been  guilty  of  it,  mows 
an  mfolent  contempt  of  the  happinefs  and  fafety  of 
others.  There  is  real  injuftice  in  his  conduct  He 
wantonly  expofes  his  neighbour  to  what  no  man  in 
his  fenfes  would  chufe  to  expofe  himfelf,  and  evident- 
ly wants  that  fenfe  of  what  is  due  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures which  is  the  bafis  of  juftice  and  of  focietv. 
Grofs  negligence  therefore  is,  in  the  law,  faid  to  be 
almoft  equal  to  malicious  defign  *  When  any  un- 
lucky confequences  happen  from  fuch  carelefTnefs, 
the  perfon  who  has  been  guilty  of  it  is  often  punifh- 
ed  as  if  he  had  really  intended  thofe  confequences  ; 
and  his  conduct,  which  was  only  thoughtlefs  and 
mfolent,  and  what  deferved  fome  chaftifement,  is 
considered  as  atrocious,  and  as  liable  to  the  fevered 
M  2     v  punim- 

*  Lata  culpa  prope  dolum  eft. 


164        0/ Merit  /z;^  Demerit.  Part  II. 

punifhment.  Thus  if,  by  the  imprudent  aftion 
above-mentioned,  he  mould  accidentally  kill  a  man, 
he  is,  by  the  laws  of  many  countries,  particularly  by 
the  old  law  of  Scotland,  liable  to  the  laft  punifhment. 
And  though  this  is  no  doubt  exceflively  fevere,  it  is 
not  altogether  inconfiftent  with  our  natural  fenti- 
ments.  Our  juft  indignation  againft  the  folly  and 
inhumanity  of  his  conduct  is  exafperated  by  our 
fympathy  with  the  unfortunate  fufferer.  Nothing 
however  would  appear  more  mocking  to  our  natural 
fenfe  of  equity,  than  to  bring  a  man  to  the  fcaffold 
merely  for  having  thrown  a  ftone  carelefsly  into  the 
ftreet  without  hurting  any  body.  The  folly  and  in- 
humanity of  his  conduct,  however,  would  in  this 
cafe  be  the  fame ;  but  flill  our  fentiments  would  be 
very  different.  The  confederation  of  this  difference 
may  fatisfy  us  how  much  the  indignation,  even  of 
the  fpe&ator,  is  apt  to  be  animated  by  the  a&ual  con- 
fequences  of  the  action.  In  cafes  of  this  kind  there 
will,  if  I  am  not  miftaken,  be  found  a  great  degree 
of  feverity  in  the  laws  of  almofl  all  nations  ;  as  I  have 
already  obferved  that  in  thofe  of  an  oppofite.  kind 
there  was  a  very  general  relaxation  of  difcipline. 

There  is  another  degree  of  negligence  which  does 
not  involve  in  it  any  fort  of  injuftice.  The  perfon 
who  is  guilty  of  it  treats  his  neighbour  as  he  treats 
himfelf,  means  no  harm  to  any  body,  and  is  far 
from  entertaining  any  infolent  contempt  for  the  fafe- 
ty  and  happinefs  of  others.  He  is  not,  however,  fo 
careful  and  circumfpect  in  his  conduct  as  he  ought  to 
be,  and  deferves  upon  this  account  fome  degree  of 
blame  and  cenfure,  but  no  fort  of  punifhment.  Yet 
if  by  a  negligence  *  of  this  kind  he  mould  occafion 

fome 

*  Culpa  levis. 


Sed.  3.        Of  Merit  W  Demerit.  165 

fome  damage  to  another  perfon,  he  is  by  the  laws  of, 
I  believe,  all  countries,  obliged  to  compenfate  it. 
And  though  this  is  no  doubt  a  real  puniihment,  and 
what  no  mortal  would  have  thought  of  inflicting 
upon  him,  had  it  not  been  for  the  unlucky  accident 
which  his  conduct  gave  occafion  to  ;  yet  this  decifion 
of  the  law  is  approved  of  by  the  natural  fentiments 
of  all  mankind.  Nothing,  we  think,  can  be  more 
juft  than  that  one  man  mould  not  fuffer  by  the  care- 
lefTnefs  of  another  ;  and  that  the  damage  occafioned 
by  blamable  negligence  fhould  be  made  up  by  the 
perfon  who  was  guilty  of  it. 

There  is  another  fpecies  of  negligence  %  which 
confifts  merely  in  a  want  of  the  moil  anxious  timi- 
dity and  circumfpedion,  with  regard  to  all  the  pofli- 
ble  confequences  of  our  adions.  The  want  of  this 
painful  attention,  when  no  bad  confequences  follow 
from  it,  is  fo  far  from  being  regarded  as  blamable, 
that  the  contrary  quality  is  rather  confidered  as  fuch. 
That  timid  circumfpedion  which  is  afraid  of  every 
thing,  is  never  regarded  as  a  virtue,  but  as  a  quality 
which  more  than  any  other  incapacitates  for  adion 
and  bufmefs.  Yet  when,  from  a  want  of  this  ex- 
ceffive  care,  a  perfon  happens  to  occafion  fome  da- 
mage to  another,  he  is  often  by  the  law  obliged  to 
compenfate  it.  Thus,  by  the  Aquilian  law,  the  man, 
who  not  being  able  to  manage  a  horfe  that  had  acci- 
dentally taken  fright,  fhould  happen  to  ride  down 
his  neighbour's  Have,  is  obliged  to  compenfate  the 
damage.  When  an  accident  of  this  kind  happens, 
we  are  apt  to  think  that  he  ought  not  to  have  rode 
fuch  a  horfe,  and  to  regard  his  attempting  it  as  an  un- 
M  3  pardonable 

*  Culpa  leviflitna. 


166  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.         Part  II. 

pardonable  levity  ;  though  without  this  accident  we 
mould  not  only  have  made  no  fuch  reflection,  but 
ihould  have  regarded  his  refufing  it  as  the  effect  of 
timid  weaknefs,  and  of  an  anxiety  about  merely 
pofhble  events,  which  it  is  to  no  purpofe  to  be  aware 
of.  The  perfon  himfelf,  who  by  an  accident  even  of 
this  kind  has  involuntarily  hurt  another,  feems  to 
have  fome  fenfe  of  his  own  ill  defert,  with  regard 
to  him.  He  naturally  runs  up  to  the  fufferer  to  ex- 
prefs  his  concern  for  what  has  happened,  and  to 
make  every  acknowledgment  in  his  power.  If  he 
has  any  fenfibility,  he  neceiTarily  defires  to  compen- 
fate  the  damage,  and  to  do  every  thing  he  can  to 
appeafe  that  animal  refentment,  which  he  is  fenfi- 
ble  will  be  apt  to  arife  in  the  breait  of  the  fufferer. 
To  make  no  apology,  to  offer  no  atonement,  is  re- 
garded as  the  highelt  brutality.  Yet  why  mould  he 
make  an  apology  more  than  any  other  perfon  ? 
Why  fhould  he,  fince  he  was  equally  innocent  with 
any  other  by-ftander,  be  thus  fingled  out  from 
among  all  mankind,  to  make  up  for  the  bad  fortune 
of  another  ?  This  tafk  would  furely  never  be  impof- 
ed  upon  him,  did  not  even  the  impartial  fpeftator 
feel  fome  indulgence  for  what  may  be  regarded  as 
the  unjuft  refentment  of  that  other. 


CHAP. 


-•■*---i 


Sect.  3.  O/Merit  WDemerit.  167 


CHAP.     III. 


Of    the   final  caufe  of  this    irregularity   of  fenti- 
ments. 


s 


U  C  H  is  the  effect  of  the  good  or  bad  confe- 
quence  of  actions  upon  the  fentiments  both  of 
the  perfon  who  performs  them,  and  of  others  ;  and 
thus,  Fortune,  which  governs  the  world,  has  fome 
influence  where  we  mould  be  leaft  willing  to  allow 
her  any,  and  directs  in  fome  meafure  the  fentiments 
of  mankind,  with  regard  to  the  character  and  con- 
duel:  both  of  themfelves  and  others.  That  the  world 
judges  by  the  event,  and  not  by  the  defign,  has  been 
in  all  ages  the  complaint,  and  is  the  great  difcou- 
ragement  of  virtue.  Every  body  agrees  to  the  gene- 
ral maxim,  that  as  the  event  does  not  depend  on  the 
agent,  it  ought  to  have  no  influence  upon  your  fenti- 
ments, with  regard  to  the  merit  or  propriety  of  his 
conduct.  But  when  we  come  to  particulars,  we 
find  that  our  fentiments  are  fcarce  in  any  one  in- 
ftance  exactly  conformable  to  what  this  equitable 
maxim  would  direct.  The  happy  or  unprofperous 
event  of  any  action,  is  not  only  apt  to  give  us  a  good 
or  bad  opinion  of  the  prudence  with  which  it  was 
conducted,  but  almoft  always  too  animates  our  gra- 
titude or  refentment,  our  fenfe  of  the  merit  or  de- 
merit of  the  defign. 

M  4  Nature, 


i68  0/ Merit  and  Demerit.  PartH. 

Nature,  however,   when   fhe  implanted  the  feeds 
of  this  irregularity  in   the  human   breaft,   feems,  as 
upon  all  other  occafions,  to  have  intended  the  happi- 
nefs  and  perfection  of  the  fpecies.     If  the  hurtfulnefs 
of  the  defign,  if  the  malevolence  of  the  affection, 
were  alone  the  caufes  which  excited  our  refentment, 
we  mould  feel  all  the  furies  of  that  paflion  againft  any 
perfon  in  whofe  breaft  we  fufpected  or  believed  fuch 
defigns  or  affections  were  harboured,  though  they 
had  never  broke  out  into  any  actions.     Sentiments, 
thoughts,  intentions,   would  become  the  objects  of 
punifhment  •,   and  if  the  indignation  of  mankind  ran 
as  high  againft  them  as  againft  actions ;  if  the  bafe- 
nefs  of  the  thought  which  had  given  birth  to  no  acti- 
on, feemed  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  as  much  to  call 
aloud  for  vengeance  as  the  bafenefs  of  the  action, 
every  court  ofjudicature  would  become  a  real  inqui- 
fition.     There  would  be  no  fafety  for  the  moft  in- 
nocent and  circumfpect  conduct.     Ead  wifhes,  bad 
views,bad  defigns,  might  ftill  be  fufpected-,  and  while 
thefe  excited  the  fame  indignation  with  bad  conduct, 
while  bad  intentions   were  as  much  refented  as  bad 
actions,  they  would  equally  expofe  the  perfon  to  pu- 
nifhment and  refentment.     Actions  therefore  which 
either  produce  actual  evil,  or  attempt  to  produce  it, 
and  thereby  put  us  in  the  immediate  fear  of  it,  are  by 
the  Author  of  nature  rendered  the  only  proper  and 
approved  objects  of  human  punifhment  and  refent- 
ment.    Sentiments,  defigns,  affections,  though  it  is 
from  thefe   that   according    to  cool  reafon    human 
actions  derive  their   whole    merit  or.  demerit,   are 
placed  by  the  great  Judge  of  hearts  beyond  the  li- 
mits of  every   human  jurisdiction,  and  are  referved 
for  the  cognizance ^of  his  own  unerring  tribunal. 

That 


Se£t.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  169 

That  neceflary  rule  ofjaftice,  therefore,  that  men 
in  this  life  are  liable  to  punifhment  for  their  actions 
only,  not  for  their  defigns  and  intentions,  is  founded 
upon  this  falutary  and  ufeful  irregularity  in  human 
fentiments  concerning  merit  or  demerit,  which  at 
firft.  fight  appears  fo  abfurd  and  unaccountable. 
But  every  part  of  nature,  when  attentively  furveyed, 
equally  demonflrates  the  providential  care  of  its 
Author,  and  we  may  admire  the  wifdom  and  good* 
nefs  of  God  even  in  the  weaknefs  and  folly  of 
men. 

Nor  is  that  irregularity  of  fentiments  altogether 
without  its  utility,  by  which  the  merit  of  an  unfuc- 
cefsful  attempt  to  ferve,  and  much  more  that  of  mere 
good  inclinations  and  kind  wifhes,  appears  to  be  im- 
perfect. Man  was  made  for  action,  and  to  promote 
by  the  exertion  of  his  faculties  fiich  changes  in 
the  external  circumftances  both  of  himfelf  and 
others,  as  may  feem  moll  favourable  to  the  happi- 
nefs  of  all.  He  mud  not  be  fatisfied  with  indolent 
benevolence,  nor  fancy  himfelf  the  friend  of  man- 
kind, becaufe  in  his  heart  he  wifhes  well  to  the  prof- 
perity  of  the  world.  That  he  may  call  forth  the 
whole  vigour  of  his  foul,  and  llrain  every  nerve,  in 
order  to  produce  thofe  ends  which  it  is  the  purpofe  of 
his  being  to  advance,  Nature  has  taught  him,  that 
neither  himfelf  nor  mankind  can  be  fully  fatisfied 
with  his  conduct,  nor  bellow  upon  it  the  full  meafure 
of  applaufe,  unlefs  he  has  actually  produced  them. 
He  is  made  to  know,  that  the  praife  of  good  inten- 
tions, without  the  merit  of  good  offices,  will  be  but  of 
little  avail  to  excite  either  the  louden1  acclamations 
of  the  world,  or  even  the  highefl  degree  of  felf-ap- 
plaufe.  The  man  who  has  performed  no  fmgle 
action  of  importance,  but  whole  whole  converfation 

and 


170  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  Part  II. 

and  deportment  exprefs  the  jufteft,  the  nobleft,  and 
moil  generous  fentiments,  can  be  entitled  to  demand 
no  very  high  reward,  even  though  his  inutility  mould 
be  owing  to  nothing  but  the  want  of  an  opportunity 
to  ferve.     We  can  it  ill  refufe  it  him  without  blame, 
We  can  ftill  aik  him,  what  have  you  done  ?  What 
actual  fervice  can  you  produce,  to  entitle  you  to  fo 
great  a  recompenfe  ?  We  eiteem  you,  and  love  you  ; 
but  we  owe  you  nothing.     To  reward  indeed  that 
latent  virtue  which  has  been  ufelefs  only  for  want  of 
an  opportunity  to  ferve,  to  bellow  upon  it  thofe 
honours  and   preferments,    which,  though  in  fome 
meaiureit  may  be  faid  to  deferve  them,  it  could  not 
with  propriety  have  infilled  upon,  is  the  effect  of  the 
molt  divine  benevolence.     To  punifh,  on  the  con- 
trary, for  the  affections  of  the  heart  only,  where  no 
crime  has  been  committed,  is  the  mod  infolent  and 
barbarous  tyranny.     The  benevolent  affections  feem 
to  deferve  moil  praife,  when  they  do  not  wait  till  it 
becomes  almoit  a  crime  for  them  not  to  exert  them- 
felves.     The  malevolent,  on  the  contrary,  can  fcarce 
be  too  tardy,  too  flow,  or  deliberate. 

It  is  even  of  ufe  that  the  evil  which  is  done  without 
defign  fhould  be  regarded  as  a  misfortune  to  the  doer 
as  well  as  to  the  fufferer.  Man  is  thereby  taught  to 
reverence  the  happinefs  of  his  brethren,  to  tremble 
left  he  fhould,  even  unknowingly,  do  any  thing  that 
can  hurt  them,  and  to  dread  that  animal  refentment 
which  he  feels  is  ready  to  buril  out  againil  him,  if 
he  fhould  without  defign  be  the  unhappy  inilrument 
of  their  calamity. 

Notwithstanding,  however,  all  thefe  feeming  irre- 
gularities of  ientim&it,  if  man  fhould  unfortunately 

either 


Sect.  3.  Of  Merit  and  Demerit.  171 

either  give  occafion  to  thofe  evils  which  he  did  not 
intend,  or  fail  in  producing  that  good  which  he  in- 
tended, nature  has  not  left  his  innocence  altogether 
without  confolation,  nor  his  virtue  altogether  with- 
out reward.  He  then  calls  to  his  afriftance  that  juft 
and  equitable  maxim,  that  thofe  events  which  did 
not  depend  upon  our  conduct  ought  not  to  diminim 
the  efteem  that  is  due  to  us.  He  fummons  up  his 
whole  magnanimity  and  firmnefs  of  foul,  and  ftrives 
to  regard  himfelf,  not  in  the  light  in  which  he  at 
prefent  appears,  but  in  that  in  v/hich  he  ought 
to  appear,  in  which  he  would  have  appeared 
had  his  generous  defigns  been  crowned  with  fuc- 
cefs,  and  in  which  he  would  flill  appear,  notwith- 
ftanding  their  mifcarriage,  if  the  fentiments  of  man- 
kind were  either  altogether  candid  and  equitable,  or 
even  perfectly  confident  with  themfelves.  The 
more  candid  and  humane  part  of  mankind  entirely  go 
along  with  the  efforts  which  he  thus  makes  to  fup- 
port  himfelf  in  his  own  opinion.  They  exert  their 
whole  generofity  and  greatn6fs  of  mind,  to  correct 
in  themfelves  this  irregularity  of  human  nature,  and 
endeavour  to  regard  his  unfortunate  magnanimity  in 
the  fame  light  in  which,  had  it  been  fuccefsful,  they 
would,  without  any  fuch  generous  exertion,  have  na- 
turally been  difpofed  to  confider  it. 


PART 


PART      III. 


Of  the  foundation  of  our  judgments  con- 
cerning our  own  fentiments  and  conduit, 
and  of  the  fenfe  of  duty. 


CONSISTING     OF     ONE     SECTION. 

CHAP.      I. 

Of  the  confcioufnefs  of  merited  praife  or  blame. 


i 


N  the  two  foregoing  parts  of  this  difcourfe,  I  have 
chiefly  confidered  the  origin  and  foundation  of  our 
judgments  concerning  the  fentiments  and  conduct 
of  others.  I  come  now  to  confider  the  origin  of 
thofe  concerning  our  own. 

The  defire  of  the  approbation  and  efteem  of  thofe 
we  live  with,  which  is  of  fuch  importance  to  our 
happinefs,  cannot  be  fully  and  entirely  contented  but 
by  rendering  ourfelves  thejuft  and  proper  objects  of 
thofe  fentiments,  and  by  adjufling  our  own  charac- 
ter and  conduct  according  to  thofe  meafures  and 
rules  by  which  efteem  and  approbation  are  naturally 
bellowed.     It  is  not  fufficient,  that  from  ignorance 

or 


1^4  Of  /^Sense  Part  III, 

or  miilake,  efleem  and  approbation  fhould  fome  way 
or  other  be  bellowed  upon  us.     If  we  are  confcious 
that  we  do  not  defer ve  to  be  fo  favourably  thought 
of,  and  that  if  the  truth  was  known,  we  fhould  be 
regarded  with  very  oppofite  fentiments,  our  fatisfac- 
tion  is  far  frorri  being  complete.     The  man  who  ap- 
plauds us  either  for  actions  which  we  did  not  per- 
form, or  for  motives  which  had  no  fort  of  influence 
upon  our  conduct,  applauds  not  us,  but  another  pei- 
fon.     We  can  derive  no  fort  of  fatisfaction  from  his 
praifes.     To  us  they  fhould  be  more  mortifying  than 
any  cenfure,  and  fhould  perpetually  call  to  our  minds> 
the  moil  humbling  of  all  reflections,  the  reflection 
upon  what  we  ought  to  be,  but  what  we  are  not.   A 
woman  who  paints  to  conceal  her  uglinefs,  could  de- 
Vive,  one  fhould  imagine,  but  little  vanity  from  the 
compliments  that  are  paid  to  her  beauty.     Thefe, 
we  fhould  expect,  ought  rather  to  put  her  in  mind  of 
the  fentiments  which  her  real  complexion  would  ex- 
cite, and  mortify  her  more  by  the  contrail:.     To  be 
pleafed  with  fuch  groundlefs  applaufe  is  a  proof  of 
the  moll  fuperficial  levity  and  weaknefs.     It  is  what 
is  properly  called  vanity,  and  is  the  foundation  of  the 
mofl  ridiculous  and  contemptible  vices,  the  vices  of 
affectation  and  common  lying  ;  follies  which,  if  ex- 
perience did  not  teach  us  how  common  they  are,  one 
ihould  imagine  the   leail   fpark  of  common   fenk 
would  lave  us  from.     The  foolifh  liar,  who  endea- 
vours to  excite  the  admiration  of  the  company  by 
the  relation  of  adventures  which  never  had  any  ex- 
iilence,  the  important  coxcomb  who  gives  himfelf 
airs  of  rank  and  diilinction  which  he  well  knows  he 
has  no  juft  pretenfions  to,  are    both  of  them,   no 
i  libt,  pleafed  with  the  applaufe  which  they  fancy 

they 


Chap.  i.  of  D  u  t  y.  175 

they  meet  with.  But  their  vanity  arifes  from  fo 
grofs  an  illufion  of  the  imagination,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  conceive  how  any  rational  creature  mould  be  im- 
pofed  upon  by  it.  When  they  place  themfelves  in 
the  fituation  of  thofe  whom  they  fancy  they  have 
deceived,  they  are  ftruck  with  the  higheit  admiration 
for  their  own  perfons.  They  look  upon  themfelves, 
not  in  that  light  in  which,  they  know,  they  ought  to 
appear  to  their  companions,  but  in  that  in  which 
they  believe  their  companions  actually  look  upon 
them.  Their  fuperncial  weaknefs  and  trivial  folly 
hinder  them  from  ever  turning  their  eyes  inwards, 
or  from  feeing  themfelves  in  that  defpicable  point  of 
view  in  which  their  own  confciences  mould  tell  them 
that  they  would  appear  to  every  body,  if  the  real 
truth  mould  ever  come  to  be  known. 

As  ignorant  and  groundlefs  praife  can  give  no  fo- 
lid  joy,  no  fatisfaction  that  will  bear  any  ferious  ex- 
amination, fo,  on  the  contrary,  it  often  gives  real 
comfort  to  reflect,  that  though  no  praife  mould  ac- 
tually be  beftowed  upon  us,  our  conduct,  however,  has 
been  fuch  as  to  deferve  it,  and  has  been  in  every  ref- 
pedt  fuitable  to  thofe  meafures  and  rules  by  which 
praife  and  approbation  are  naturally  and  commonly 
beftowed.Wearepleafed  not  only  with  praife,  but  with 
having  done  what  is  praife- worthy .  We  are  pleafed  to 
think  that  we  have  rendered  ourfelves  the  natural 
objects  of  approbation,  though  no  approbation, 
mould  ever  actually  be  beftowed  upon  us :  and  we 
are  mortified  to  reflect  that  we  have  juftly  incurred 
the  blame  of  thofe  we  live  with,  though  that  fenti- 
xnent  fhould  never  actually  be  exerted  againft  us. 

The 


176  0/  'the  S  e  n  s  e  v  Part  III. 

The  man  who  is  confcious  to  himfeif  that  he  has  ex- 
actly obferved  thofe  meafures  of  conduct  which  ex- 
perience informs  him  are  generally  agreeable,  re- 
flects with  fatisfaction  on  the  propriety  of  his  own 
behaviour  -,  when  he  views  it  in  the  light  in  which 
the  impartial  fpectator  would  view  it,  he  thoroughly 
enters  into  all  the  motives  which  influenced  it ;  he 
looks  back  upon  every  part  of  it  with  pleafure 
and  approbation,  and  though  mankind  mould  never 
be  acquainted  with  what  he  has  done,  he  regards 
himfeif  not  fo  much  according  to  the  light  in  which 
they  actually  regard  him,  as  according  to  that,  in 
which  they  would  regard  him  if  they  were  better  in- 
formed. He  anticipates  the  applaufe  and  admira- 
tion which  in  this  cafe  would  be  bellowed  upon 
him,  and  he  applauds  and  admires  himfeif  by  fym- 
pathy  with  fentiments  which  do  not  indeed  actually 
take  place,  but  which  the  ignorance  of  the  public 
alone  hinders  from  taking  place,  which  he  knows  are 
the  natural  and  ordinary  effects  of  fuch  conduct, 
which  his  imagination  ftrongly  connects  with  it, 
and  which  he  has  acquired  a  habit  of  conceiving  as 
fomething  that  naturally  and  in  propriety  ought  to 
flow  from  it.  Men  have  often  voluntarily  thrown 
away  life  to  acquire  after  death  a  renown  which  they 
could  no  longer  enjoy.  Their  imagination,  in  the 
mean  time,  anticipated  that  fame  which  was  there- 
after to  be  bellowed  upon  them.  Thofe  applaufes 
which  they  were  never  to  hear  rung  in  their  ears ; 
the  thoughts  of  that  admiration,  whofe  effects  they 
were  never  to  feel,  played  about  their  hearts,  banilTi- 
ed  from  their  breafts  the  ftrongeft  of  all  natural  fears, 
and  tranfported  them  to  perform  actions  which  feem 
almofl  beyond  the  reach  of  human  nature.  But  in 
x  point 


Chap.  i.  (/Duty.  177 

point  of  reality  there  is  furely  no  great  difference 
between  that  approbation  which  is  not  to  be  bellow- 
ed till  we  can  no  longer  enjoy  it,  and  that  which  in- 
deed is  never  to  be  bellowed,  but  which  would  be 
bellowed  if  the  world  was  ever  made  to  underftand 
properly  the  real  circumllances  of  our  behaviour. 
If  the  one  often  produces  fuch  violent  effects-,  we 
cannot  wonder  that  the  other  mould  always  be  high- 
ly regarded. 

On  the  contrary,  the  man  who  has  broke  through 
all  thofe  meafures  of  conduct,  which  can  alone  ren- 
der him  agreeable  to  mankind,  tho'  he  mould  have 
the  moll  perfect  alfurance  that  what  he  had  done 
was  for  ever  to  be  concealed  from  every  human  eye, 
it  is  all  to  no  purpofe.  When  he  looks  back  upon  it, 
and  views  it  in  the  light  in  which  the  impartial  fpec- 
tator  would  view  it,  he  finds  that  he  can  enter  into 
none  of  the  motives  which  influenced  it.  He  is  abafhed 
and  confounded  at  the  thoughts  of  it,  and  necefla- 
rily  feels  a  very  high  degree  of  that  Ihame  which  he 
would  be  expofed  to,  if  his  actions  mould  ever  come 
to  be  generally  known.  His  imagination,  in  this 
cafe  too,  anticipates  the  contempt  and  derifion  from 
which  nothing  faves  him  but  the  ignorance  of  thofe 
he  lives  with.  He  Hill  feels  that  he  is  the  natural 
object  of  thefe  fentiments,  and  ftill  trembles  at  the 
thought  of  what  he  would  fufTer  if  they  were  ever  ac- 
tually exerted  againll  him.  But  if  what  he  had  been 
guilty  of  was  not  merely  one  of  thofe  improprieties 
which  are  the  objects  of  fimple  difapprobation,  but 
one  of  thofe  enormous  crimes  which  excite  detefla- 
tion  and  refentment,  he  could  never  think  of  it,  as 
long  as  he  had  any  fenfibility  left,  without  feeling  all 

N  the 


178  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e        #      PartllL 

the  agony  of  horror  and  remorfc ;  and  though  he 
could  be  allured  that  no  man  was  ever  to  know  it, 
and  could  even  bring  himfelf  to  believe  that  there 
was  no  God  to  revenge  it,  he  would  ftill  feel  enough 
of  both  thefe  fentiments  to  embitter  the  whole  of  his 
life :  He  would  ftill  regard  himfelf  as  the  natural  object 
of  the  hatred  and  indignation  of  all  his  fellow-crea- 
tures ;  and  if  his  heart  was  not  grown  callous  by  the 
habit  of  crimes,  he  could  not  think  without  terror  and 
aftonifhment  even  of  the  manner  in  which  mankind 
would  look  upon  him,  of  what  would  be  the  expref- 
fion  of  their  countenance  and  of  their  eyes,  if  the 
dreadful  truth  mould  ever  come  to  be  known. 
Thefe  natural  pangs  of  an  affrighted  conference  are 
the  daemons,  the  avenging  furies  which  in  this  life 
haunt  the  guilty,  which  allow  them  neither  quiet  nor 
repofe,  which  often  drive  them  to  defpair  and  dif- 
traction,  from  which  no  aiTurance  of  fecrecy  can  pro- 
tect them,  from  which  no  principles  of  irreligion  can 
entirely  deliver  them,  and  from  which  nothing  can 
free  them  but  the  vileft  and  mod  abject  of  all  ftates, 
a  complete  infenfibility  of  honour  and  infamy,  to 
vice  and  virtue.  Men  of  the  moft  deteftable  charac- 
ters, who,  in  the  execution  of  the  moft  dreadful 
crimes,  had  taken  their  meafures  fo  coolly  as  to  avoid 
even  the  fufpicion  of  guilt,  have  fometimes  been 
driven,  by  the  horror  of  their  fituation,  to  difcover  of 
their  own  accord,  what  no  human  fagacity  could  ever 
have  inveftigated.  By  acknowledging  their  guilt, 
by  fubmitting  themfelves  to  the  refentment  of  their 
offended  citizens,  and  by  thus  fatiating  that  ven- 
geance of  which  they  were  fenfible  that  they  were  be- 
come the  proper  objects,  they  hoped  by  their  death 

to 


Chap.   I.  of   D  U  T  Y.  ijg 

to  reconcile  themfelves,  at  leaft  in  their  own  imagi- 
nation, to  the  natural  fentiments  of  mankind,  to  be 
able  to  confider  themfelves  as  lefs  worthy  of  hatred 
and  refentment,  to  atone  in  fome  meafure  for  their 
crimes,  and,  if  poflible,  to  die  in  peace  and  with  the 
forgivenefs  of  all  their  fellow-creatures.  Compared 
to  what  they  felt  before  the  difcovery,  even  the 
thought  of  this,  it  feems,  was  happinefs. 


Nz  CHAP. 


iZo  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 


CHAP.     II. 

In  what  manner  our  own  judgments  refer  to  vjhat  ought 
to  be  the  judgments  of  others  :  and  of  the  origin  of  ge- 
neral rules. 


A 


Great  part,  perhaps  the  greateft  part,  of  human 
happinefs  and  mifery  arifes  from  the  view  of  our 
paft  conduct,  and  from  the  degree  of  approbation  or 
difapprobation  which  we  feel  from  the  conlideration 
of  it.  But  in  whatever  manner  it  may  affect  us,  our 
fentiments  of  this  kind  have  always  fome  fecret  re- 
ference either  to  what  are,  or  to  what  upon  a  certain 
condition  would  be,  or  to  what  we  imagine  ought  to 
be  the  fentiments  of  others.  We  examine  it  as  we 
imagine  an  impartial  ipectator  would  examine  it.  If 
upon  placing  ourfelves  in  his  fituation  we  thoroughly 
enter  into  all  the  pailions  and  motives  which  influ- 
enced it,  we  approve  of  it  by  fympathy  with  the  ap- 
probation of  this  fuppofed  equitable  judge.  If  other- 
wife,  we  enter  into  his  difapprobation  and  condemn 
it. 

Was  it  poffible  that  a  human  creature  could  grow 
up  to  manhood  in  fome  folitary  place  without  any 
communication  with  his  own  fpecies,  he  could  no 
more  think-  of  his  own  character,  of  the  propriety  or 
demerit  of  his  own  fentiments  and  conduct,  of  the 
beauty  or  deformity  of  his  own  mind,  than  of  the 
beauty  or  deformity  of  his  own  face.  All  thefe  are 
objects  which  he  cannot  eafily  fee,  which  naturally 
he  does  not  look  at ;  and  with  regard  to  which  he 

is 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y;  igr 

is  provided  with  no  mirror  which  can  prefent  them 
to  his  view.  Bring  him  into  fociety,  and  he  is  im- 
mediately provided  with  the  mirror  which  he  want- 
ed before.  It  is  placed  in  the  countenance  and  be- 
haviour of  thofe  he  lives  with,  which  always  mark 
when  they  enter  into,  and  when  they  difap- 
prove  of  his  fentiments ;  and  it  is  here  that  he  firft 
views  the  propriety  and  impropriety  of  his  own 
paffions,  the  beauty  and  deformity  of  his  own 
mind.  To  a  man  who  from  his  birth  was  a  ftran- 
ger  to  fociety,  the  objects  of  his  paffions,  the  ex- 
ternal bodies  which  either  pleafed  or  hurt  him,  would 
occupy  his  whole  attention.  The  paffions  them- 
felves,  the  defires  or  averfions,  the  joys  or  forrows, 
which  thofe  objects  excited,  though  of  all  things 
the  moil  immediately  prefent  to  him,  could  fcarce 
ever  be  the  objects  of  his  thoughts.  The  idea  of 
them  could  never  intereft  him  fo  much  as  to  call 
upon  his  attentive  confideration.  The  confideration 
of  his  joy  could  in  him  excite  no  new  joy,  nor  that 
of  his  forrow  any  new  forrow,  though  the  confider- 
ation of  the  caufes  of  thofe  paffions  might  often  ex- 
cite both.  Bring  him  into  fociety,  and  ail  his  own 
paffions  will  immediately  become  the  caufes  of  new 
paffions.  He  will  obferve  that  mankind  approve  of 
fome  of  them,  and  are  difguited  by  others.  He  will 
be  elevated  in  the  one  cafe,  and  call  down  in  the 
other;  his  defires  and  averfions,  his  joys  and  for- 
rows will  now  often  become  the  caufes  of  new  de- 
fires and  new  averfions,  new  joys  and  new  forrows: 
they  will  now  therefore  intereft  him  deeply,  and  of- 
ten call  upon  his  molt  attentive  confideration. 

Our  nrft  ideas  of  perfonal  beauty  and  deformity, 
are  drawn  from  the  fhape  and  appearance  of  others ,. 
not  from  our  own.     We  foon  become  fenfible,  how- 

N  3  ever^ 


1 82  O/ASense  PartllL 

ever,  that  others  exercife  the  fame  criticifm  upon  us. 
We  are  pleafed  when  they  approve  of  our  figure, 
and  are  difobliged  when  they  feem  to  be  difgufted. 
We  become  anxious  to  know  how  far  our  appear- 
ance defer ves  either  their  blame  or  approbation.  We 
examine  our  own  perfons  limb  by  limb,  and  by 
placing  ourfelves  before  a  looking-glafs,  or  by  fome 
fuch  expedient,  endeavour,  as  much  as  poffible,  to 
view  ourfelves  at  the  diflance  and  with  the  eyes  of 
other  people.  If  after  this  examination  we  are  fatis- 
fied  with  our  own  appearance,  we  can  more  eafily 
fupport  the  moil  difadvantageous  judgments  of 
others  :  if,  on  the  contrary,  we  are  fenfible  that  we 
are  the  natural  objects  of  diftafte,  every  appearance 
of  their  difapprobation  mortifies  us  beyond  all  mea- 
fure.  A  man  who  is  tolerably  handfome,  will  allow 
you  to  laugh  at  any  little  irregularity  in  his  perfon  ; 
but  all  fuch  jokes  are  commonly  infupportable  to  one 
who  is  really  deformed.  It  is  evident,  however, 
that  we  are  anxious  about  our  own  beauty  and  defor- 
mity only  on  account  of  its  effect  upon  others.  If 
we  had  no  connexion  with  fociety,  we  mould  be  al- 
together indifferent  about  either. 

In  the  fame  manner  our  firft  moral  criticifms  are 
exercifed  upon  the  characters  and  conduct  of  other 
people ;  and  we  are  all  very  forward  to  obferve  how 
each  of  thefe  affects  us.  But  we  foon  learn,  that 
others  are  equally  frank  with  regard  to  our  own. 
We  become  anxious  to  know  how  far  we  deferve 
their  ceniure  or  applaufe,  and  whether  to  them  we 
mult  neceffarily  appear  thofe  agreeable  or  difagree- 
able  creatures  which  they  reprefent  us.  We  begin 
upon  this  account  to  examine  our  own  palfions  and 
conduct,  and  to  confider  how  thefe  muft  appear  to 
them,  by  confidering  how  they  would  appear  to 

us 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  183 

us  if  in  their  fituation.  We  fuppofe  ourfelves  the 
fpectator  s  of  our  own  behaviour,  and  endeavour  to 
imagine  what  effect  it  would,  in  this  light,  produce 
upon  us.  This  is  the  only  looking-glafs  by  which 
we  can,  in  fome  meafure,  with  the  eyes  of  others, 
fcrutinize  the  propriety  of  our  own  conduct.  If  in 
this  view  it  pleafes  us,  we  are  tolerably  fatisfied.  We 
can  be  more  indifferent  about  the  applaufe,  and,  in 
fome  meafure,  defpife  the  cenfure  of  others  ■  fecure 
that,  however  mifunderftood  or  mifreprefented,  we 
are  the  natural  and  proper  objects  of  approbation, 
On  the  contrary,  if  we  are  difpleafed  with  it,  we  are 
often  upon  that  very  account  more  anxious  to  gain 
their  approbation,  and,  provided  we  have  not  alrea- 
dy, as  they  fay,  lhaken  hands  with  infamy,  we  are 
altogether  diffracted  at  the  thoughts  of  their  cen- 
fure, which  then  ftrikes  us  with  double  feverity. 

When  I  endeavour  to  examine  my  own  conduct, 
when  I  endeavour  to  pafs  fentence  upon  it,  and  ei- 
ther to  approve  or  condemn  it,  it  is  evident  that,  in 
all  fuch  cafes,  I  divide  myfelf,  as  it  were,  into  two 
perfons,  and  that  I,  the  examiner  and  judge,  repre- 
fent  a  different  character  from  that  other  I,  the  per- 
fon  whofe  conduct  is  examined  into  and  judged  of. 
The  firft  is  the  fpectator,  whofe  fentiments  with  re- 
gard to  my  own  conduct  I  endeavour  to  enter  into, 
by  placing  myfelf  in  his  fituation,  and  by  confider- 
ing  how  it  would  appear  to  me  when  feen  from  that 
particular  point  of  view.  The  fecond  is  the  agent, 
the  perfon  whom  I  properly  call  myfelf,  and  of 
whofe  conduct,  under  the  character  of  a  fpectator, 
I  was  endeavouring  to  form  fome  opinion.  The 
firfl  is  the  judge ;  the  fecond  the  pannel.  But  that 
the  judge  mould,   in  every  refpect,  be  the  fame 

N  4  with 


1 84  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

with  the  pannel,  is  as  impoflible,  as  that  the  caufe 
fhould,  in  every  refpect,  be  the  fame  with  the  effect. 

To  be  amiable  and  to  be  meritorious,  that  is,  to 
deferve  love  and  to  deferve  reward,  are  the  great 
characters  of  virtue,  and  to  be  odious  and  punifria- 
ble,  of  vice.  But  all  thefe  characters  have  an  imme- 
diate reference  to  the  fentiments  of  others.  Virtue 
is  not  faid  to  be  amiable  or  to  be  meritorious,  be- 
caufe  it  is  the  object  of  its  own  love,  or  of  its  own 
gratitude ;  but  becaufe  it  excites  thofe  fentiments  in 
other  men.  The  confcioufnefs  that  it  is  the  object 
of  fuch  favourable  regards  is  the  fourceof  that  in- 
ward tranquillity  and  felf-fatisfaction  with  which  it 
is  naturally  attended,  as  the  fufpicion  of  the  contra- 
ry gives  occafion  to  the  torments  of  vice.  What  fo 
great  happinefs  as  to  be  beloved,  and  to  know  that 
we  deferve  to  be  beloved  ?  What  fo  great  mifery 
as  to  be  hated,  and  to  know  that  we  deferve  to  be 
hated  ? 

Man  is  confidered  as  a  moral,  becaufe  he  is  re- 
garded as  an  accountable  being.  But  an  account- 
able being,  as  the  word  expreffes,  is  a  being  that 
muft  give  an  account  of  its  actions  to  fome  other, 
and  that  confequently  muft  regulate  them  accord- 
ing to  the  good  liking  of  this  other.  Man  is  ac- 
countable to  God  and  his  fellow-creatures.  But 
though  he  is,  no  doubt,  principally  accountable  to 
God  ;  in  the  order  of  time,  he  muft  necelfarily  con- 
ceive himfelfas  accountable  to  his  fellow-creatures, 
before  he  can  form  any  idea  of  the  Deity,  or  of  the 
rules  by  which  that  divine  being  will  judge  of  his 
conduct.  A  child  furely  conceives  itfelf  as  account- 
able to  its  parents,>and  ic  elevated  or  caft  down  by 

the 


Chap.  2.  of.  Duty.  185 

the  thought  of  their  merited  approbation  or  difap- 
probation,  long  before  it  forms  any  idea  of  its  ac- 
countablenefs  to  the  Deity,  or  of  the  rules  by  which 
that  divine  being  will  judge  of  its  conduct. 

The  great  judge  of  the  world,  has,  for  the  wifeft 
reafons,  thought  proper  to  interpofe,  between  the 
weak  eye  of  human  reafon,  and  the  throne  of  his 
eternal  juflice,  a  degree  of  obicurity  and  darknefs, 
which  though  it  does  not  entirely  cover  that  great 
tribunal  from  the  view  of  mankind,  yet  renders  the 
imprefllon  of  it  faint  and  feeble  in  cumparifon  of 
what  might  be  expected  from  the  grandeur  and  im- 
portance of  fo  mighty  an  object.  If  thofe  infinite 
rewards  and  punifhitients  which  the  Almighty  has 
prepared  for  thofe  who  obey  or  tranfgrefs  his  will, 
v.  ere  perceived  as  diftinctly  as  we  forefee  the  frivo- 
lous and  temporary  retaliations  which  we  may  ex- 
pect from  one  another,  the  weaknefs  of  human  na- 
ture, altonifhed  at  the  immenfity  of  objects  fo  little 
fitted  to  its  comprehenfion,  could  no  longer  attend 
to  the  little  affairs  of  this  world  ;  and  it  is  abfolutely 
impoflible  that  the  bufinefs  of  fociety  could  have 
been  carried  on,  if,  in  this  refpect,  there  had  been  a 
fuller  revelation  of  the  intentions  of  Providence 
than  that  which  has  already  been  made.  That 
men,  however,  might  never  be  without  a  rule  to 
direct  their  conduct  by,  nor  without  a  judge  whofe 
authority  mould  enforce  its  obfervation,  the  Author 
of  nature  has  made  man  the  immediate  judge  of 
mankind,  and  has,  in  this  refpect,  as  in  many 
others,  created  him  after  his  own  image,  and  ap- 
pointed him  his  vicegerent  upon  earth,  to  fuperin- 
tend  the  behaviour  of  his  brethren.  They  are 
taught  by  nature  to  acknowledge  that  power  and 

jurifdiction 


1 86  Of  the  Se  n  s  e  Part  III. 

jurisdiction  which  has  thus  been  conferred  upon  him, 
and  to  tremble  and  exult  according  as  they  imagine 
thr.t  they  have  either  merited  his  cenfure,  or  deferved 
his  applaufe. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  authority  of  this  inferior 
tribunal  which  is  continually  before  their  eyes,  if  at 
any  time  it  mould  decide  contrary  to  thofe  princi- 
ples and  rules,  which  Nature  has  eftablimed  for  re- 
gulating its  judgments,  men  feel  that  they  may  ap- 
peal from  this  unjuft  decifion,  and  call  upon  a  fupe- 
rior  tribunal,  the  tribunal  eftablifhed  in  their  own 
breafts,  to  redrefs  the  injuftice  of  this  weak  or  par- 
tial judgment. 

There  are  certain  principles  eftablifhed  by  Nature 
for  governing  our  judgment  concerning  the  conduct 
of  thofe  we  live  with.  As  long  as  we  decide  accord- 
ing to  thofe  principles,  and  neither  applaud  nor  con- 
demn any  thing  which  Nature  has  not  rendered  the 
proper  object  of  applaufe  or  condemnation,  nor  any 
further  than  fhe  has  rendered  it  fuch,  as  our  lentence 
is,  in  this  cafe,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  quite  agreeable  to 
law,  it  is  liable  neither  to  repeal  nor  to  correction  of 
any  kind.  The  perfon  concerning  whom  we  form 
thefe judgments,  mud  himfelf  necerTarily  approve  of 
them.  When  he  puts  himfelf  into  our  fituation,  he 
cannot  avoid  viewing  his  own  conduct  in  the  very 
fame  light  in  which  we  appear  to  view  it.  He  is 
fenfible,  that  to  us,  and  to  every  impartial  fpectator, 
he  muft  necerTarily  appear  the  natural  and  proper  ob- 
ject: of  thofe  fentiments  which  we  exprefs  with  regard 
to  him.  Thofe  fentiments,  therefore,  muft  necefla- 
rily  produce  their  full  effect  upon  him,  and  he  cannot 
fail  to  conceive  all  the*  triumph  of  felf-approbation 

-  from, 


Chap.   2.  of  Du  t  y.  187 

from,  what  appears  to  him,  fuch  merited  applaufe, 
as  well  as  all  the  horrors  of  fhar&e  from,  what,  he 
is  fenfible,  is  fuch  deferved  condemnation. 

But  it  is  otherwife,  if  we  have  either  applauded  or 
condemned  him,  contrary  to  thofe  principles  and 
rules  which  Nature  has  eftablifhed  for  the  direction 
of  our  judgments  concerning  every  thing  of  this 
kind.  If  we  have  either  applauded  or  condemned 
him  for  what,  when  he  put  himfelf  into  ourfituation, 
does  not  appear  to  him  to  be  the  object  either  of  ap- 
plaufe or  condemnation  ;  as  in  this  cafe  he  cannot 
enter  into  our  fentiments,  provided  he  has  any  con- 
itancy  or  firmnefs,  he  is  but  little  affected  by  them, 
and  can  neither  be  much  elevated  by  the  favourable, 
nor  greatly  mortified  by  the  unfavourable  decifion. 
The  applaufe  of  the  whole  world  will  avail  but  little, 
if  our  own  confidence  condemn  us  -,  and  the  difap- 
probation  of  all  mankind  is  not  capable  of  oppreffmg 
us,  when  we  are  abfolved  by  the  tribunal  within  our 
own  breaft,  and  when  our  own  mind  tells  us  that 
mankind  are  in  the  wrong. 

But  though  this  tribunal  within  the  bread  be  thus 
the  fupreme  arbiter  of  all  our  actions,  though  it  can 
reverfe  the  decifions  of  all  mankind  with  regard  to 
our  character  and  conduct,  and  mortify  us  amidfl 
the  applaufe,  or  fupport  us  under  the  cenfure  of  the 
world  ;  yet,  if  we  inquire  into  the  origin  of  its  in- 
ftitution,  its  jurisdiction  we  fhall  find  is  in  a  great 
meafure  derived  from  the  authority  of  that  very  tribu- 
nal, whofe  decifions  it  fo  often  andfojuftly  reverfes. 

When  wefirft  come  into  the  world,  from  the  na 
tural  defire  to  pleafe,  we  accuftom  ourfelves  to  con- 

fider 


1 88  0//fo   Sense  .   Part  III. 

fider  what  behaviour  is  likely  to  be  agreeable  to  every 
perfon  we  converfe  wi  th,  to  our  parents,  to  our  mas- 
ters, to  our  companions.  We  addreis  ourfelves  to 
individuals,  and  for  fome  time  fondly  purfue  the  im- 
polTible  and  abfurd  project  of  gaining  the  good- will 
and  approbation  of  every  body.  We  are  foon 
taught  by  experience,  however,  that  this  universal 
approbation  is  altogether  unattainable.  As  foon  as 
we  come  to  have  more  important  interefts  to  manage, 
we  find,  that  by  pleafmg  one  man,  we  almoft  cer- 
tainly di-fobl;ge  another,  and  that  by  humouring  an 
individual,  we  may  often  irritate  a  whole  people. 
The  faireft  and  moil  equitable  conduct  mull 
frequently  obftruct  the  interefls,  or  thwart  the 
inclinations  of  particular  perfons,  who  will  feldom 
have  candour  enough  to  enter  into  the  propriety  ofour 
motives,  or  to  fee  that  this  conduct,  how  difagreeable 
foever  to  them,  is  perfectly  fui table  to  our  fituation. 
In  order  to  defend  ourfelves  from  fuch  partial  judg- 
ments, we  foon  learn  to  fet  up  in  our  own  minds  a, 
judge  between  ourfelves  and  thofe  we  live  with.  Wc 
conceive  ourfelves  as  acting  in  the  prefence  of  a  per- 
fon quite  candid  and  equitable,  of  one  who  has  no 
particular  relation  either  to  ourfelves,  or  to  thofe 
whofe  interefls  are  affected  by  our  conduct,  who  is 
neither  father,  nor  brother,  nor  friend  either  to  them 
or  to  us,  but  is  merely  a  man  in  general,  an  impar- 
tial fpectator  who  confiders  our  conduct  with  the 
fame  indifference  with  which  we  regard  that  of  other 
people.  If,  when  we  place  ourfelves  in  the  fituation 
of  fuch  a  perfon,  -our  own  actions  appear  to  us  under 
an  agreeable  afpect,  if  we  feel  that  fuch  a  fpectator 
cannot  avoid   entering  into  all  the  motives  which 

influenced 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  189 

influenced  us,  whatever  may  be  the  judgments  of  the 
world,  we  mufl  ft  ill  be  pleafed  with  our  own  beha- 
viour, and  regard  ourfelves,  in  fpite  of  the  cenfure 
of  our  companions,  as  the  juft  and  proper  objects  of 
approbation. 

On  the  contrary,  if  the  man  within  condemns  us, 
the  lcudeft  acclamations  of  mankind  appear  but  as 
the  noife  of  ignorance  and  folly,  and  whenever  we 
alTume  the  character  of  this  impartial  judge,  we  can- 
not avoid  viewing  our  own  actions  with  this  diftafte 
and  diffatisfaction.  The  weak,  the  vain,  and  the  fri- 
volous, indeed,  may  be  mortified  by  the  mod  ground- 
lefs  cenfure,  or  elated  by  the  moil  abfurd  applaufe. 
Such  perfons  are  not  accuitomed  to  confult  the  judge 
within  concerning,  the  opinion  which  they  ought  to 
form  of  their  own  conduct.  This  inmate  of  the 
breaft,  this  abftra£t  man,  the  reprefentative  of  man- 
kind, and  fubititute  of  the  Deity,  whom  Nature  has 
conftituted  the  fupreme  judge  of  all  their  actions,  is 
feldom  appealed  to  by  them.  They  are  contented 
with  the  decifion  of  the  inferior  tribunal.  The  ap- 
probation of  their  companions,  of  the  particular  per- 
fons whom  they  have  lived  and  converfed  with,  has 
o-enerally  been  the  ultimate  object  of  all  their  wifhes. 
If  they  obtain  this,  their  joy  is  complete ;  and  if  they 
fail,  they  are  entirely  disappointed.  They  never 
think  of  appealing  to  the  fuperior  court.  They  have 
feldom  inquired  after  its  decifions,  and  are  altoge- 
gether  unacquainted  with  the  rules  and  forms  of  its 
procedure.  When  the  world  injures  them,  there- 
fore, they  are  incapable  of  doing  themfelves  juftice, 
and  are,  in  confequence,  neceifarily  the  flaves  of  the 

world, 


i  go  Of  the  Sense  .     Part  III. 

world.  But  it  is  otherwife  with  the  man  who  has, 
upon  all  cccafions,  been  accuftomed  to  have  recourfe 
to  the  judge  within,  and  to  con fider,  not  what  the 
world  approves  or  difapproves  of,  but  what  appears 
to  this  impartial  fpectator,  the  natural  and  proper 
object  of  approbation  or  difapprobation.  The  judg- 
ment of  this  fupreme  arbiter  of  his  conduct,  is  the 
applaufe,  which  he  has  been  accuftomed  principally 
to  court,  is  the  cenfure  which  he  has  been  accuftom- 
ed principally  to  fear.  Compared  with  this  final  de- 
cifion,  the  fentiments  of  all  mankind,  though  not 
altogether  indifferent,  appear  to  be  but  of  fmall  mo- 
ment ;  and  he  is  incapable  of  being  either  much 
elevated  by  their  favourable,  or  greatly  deprefTed  by 
their  moll  difadvantageous  judgment. 

It  is  only  by  consulting  this  judge  within,  that  we 
can  fee  whatever  relates  to  ourfelves  in  its  proper 
fliape  and  dimenfions,  or  that  we  can  make  any  pro- 
per comparifon  between  our  own  interefls  and  thofe 
of  other  men. 

As  to  the  eye  of  the  body,  objects  appear  great  or 
fmall,  not  fo  much  according  to  their  real  dimenfions, 
as  according  to  the  nearnefs  or  diftance  of  their  fitu- 
ation  j  fo  do  they  likewife  to  what  may  be  called  the 
natural  eye  of  the  mind  :  and  we  remedy  the  defects 
of  both  thefe  organs  pretty  much  in  the  fame  manner. 
In  my  prefent  fituation  an  immenfe  landfcape  of 
lawns,  and  woods,  and  diftant  mountains,  feems  to 
do  no  more  than  cover  the  little  window  which  I 
write  by,  and  to  be  out  of  all  proportion  lefs  than  the 
chamber  in  which  I  am  fitting.  lean  form  a  juft 
comparifon  between  thofe  great  objects  and  the 
little  objects  around  me,  in  no  other  way,  than  by 

tran- 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  *r  Y.  t$t 

iranfporting  myfeif,  at  lean:  in  fancy,  to  a  different 
ftation,  from  whence  I  can  furvey  both  at  nearly 
equal  diflances,  and  thereby  forrri  fome  judgment 
of  their  real  proportions.  Habit  and  experience  have 
taught  me  to  do  this  fb  eafily  and  fo  readily,  that  I 
am  icarce  fenfible  that  I  do  it  •,  and  a  man  muft  be, 
in  Tome  meafure,  acquainted  with  the  philofophy  of 
vifion,  before  he  can  be  thoroughly  convinced,  how 
little  thofe  diftant  objects  would  appear  to  the  eye, 
if  the  imagination,  from  a  knowledge  of,  their  real 
magnitudes,  did  not  fwell  and  dilate  them. 

In  the  fame  manner,  to  the  felnfh  and  original 
pailions  of  human  nature,  the  lofs  or  gain  of  a  very 
fmall  intereft  of  our  own,  appears  to  be  of  vaflly 
more  importance,  excites  a  much  more  paflionate 
joy  or  forrow,  a  much  more  ardent  defire  or  averfion, 
than  the  greater!  concern  of  another  with  whom  we 
have  no  particular  connexion.  His  interefls,  as  long 
as  they  are  furveyed  from  this  ftation,  can  never  be 
put  into  the  balance  with  our  own,  can  never  re- 
strain us  from  doing  whatever  may  tend  to  promote 
our  own,  how  ruinous  foever  to  him.  Before  we 
can  make  any  proper  comparifon  of  thofe  oppofite 
interefts,  we  muft  change  our  pofition.  We  muft 
view  them,  neither  from  our  own  place,  nor  yet 
from  his,  neither  with  our  own  eyes  nor  yet  with  his, 
but  from  the  place,  and  with  the  eyes  of  a  third  per- 
fon,  who  has  no  particular  connexion  with  either,  and 
who  judges  with  impartiality  between  us.  Here  too, 
habit  and  experience  have  taught  us  to  do  this  fo 
eafily  and  fo  readily,  that  we  are  fcarce  fenfible  that 
we  do  it ;  and  it  requires,  in  this  cafe  too,  fome 
degree  of  reflection,  and  even  of  philofophy  to  con- 
vince us,  how  little  intereft  we  mould  take  in  the 

greateft 


lgz  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  -     Part  III. 

greatefl  concerns  of  our  neighbour,  how  little  we 
mould  be  affected  by  whatever  relates  to  him,  if  the 
fenfe  of  propriety  andjuftice  did  not  correct  the 
otherwife  natural  inequality  of  our  fentiments. 

Let  us  fuppofe  that  the  great  empire  of  China, 
with  all  its  myriads  of  inhabitants,  was  fuddeniy 
fwallowed  up  by  an  earthquake,  and  let  us  confider 
how  a  man  of  humanity  in  Europe,  who  had  no  fort 
of  connexion  with  that  part  of  the  world,  would  be 
affected  upon  receiving  intelligence  of  this  dreadful 
calamity.  He  would,  I  imagine,  firft  of  all,  exprefs 
very  flrongly  his  forrow  for  the  misfortune  of  that 
unhappy  people,  he  would  make  many  melancholy 
reflections  upon  the  precarioufnefs  of  human  life,  and 
the  vanity  of  all  the  labours  of  man,  which  could 
thus  be  annihilated  in  a  moment.  He  v/ould  too, 
perhaps,  if  he  was  a  man  of  fpeculation,  enter  into 
many  reafonings  concerning  the  effects  which  this 
di  falter  might  produce  upon  the  commerce  of  Europe, 
and  the  trade  and  bufmefs  of  the  world  in  general. 
And  when  all  this  fine  phiiofophy  was  over,  when  all 
thefe  humane  fentiments  had  been  once  fairly  ex- 
preffed,  he  would  purfue  his  bufmefs  or  his  pleafure, 
take  his  repofe  or  his  diverfion,  with  the  fame  eafe 
and  tranquility,  as  if  no  fuch  accident  had  happened. 
The  moit  frivolous  difalter  which  could  befai  himfelf 
would  occafion  a  more  real  difturbance.  If  he  was 
to  lofe  his  little  finger  to-morrow,  he  v/ould  not  deep 
to-night ;  but  provided  he  never  faw  them,  he  will 
fnore  with  the  moft  profound  fecurity  over  the  ruin 
of  a  hundred  millions  of  his  brethren,  and  the  de- 
ftruction  of  that  immenfe  multitude  feems  plainly 
an  object  lefs  interefting  to  him,  than  this  paultiy 
misfortune  of  his  owrr>    To  prevent  therefore,  this 

-  paultry 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  193 

paultry  misfortune  to  himfelf  would  a  man  of  hurra-. 
ni/ty  be  willing  to  facrifice  the  lives  of  a  hundred 
millions  of  his  brethren,  provided  he  had  never  (tQa 
them  ?  Human  nature  ftartles  with  horror  at  the 
thought,  and  the  world,  in  its  greateft  depravity  and 
corruption,  never  produced  fuch  a  villain  as  could 
be  capable  of  entertaining  it.  But  what  makes  this 
difference  ?  When  our  paflive  feelings  are  almoft  al- 
ways fo  fordid  and  fo  felfifh,  how  comes  it  that  our 
active  principles  mould  often  be  fo  generous  and  fo 
noble  ?  When  we  are  always  fo  much  more  deeply 
affected  by  whatever  concerns  ourfelves,  than  by- 
whatever  concerns  other  men  -  what  is  it  which 
prompts  the  generous,  upon  all  occafions,  and  the 
mean  upon  many,  to  facrifice  their  own  intereits  to 
the  greater  interefls  of  others  ?  It  is  not  the  foft  power 
of  humanity,  it  is  not  that  feeble  fpark  of  benevo- 
lence which  Nature  has  lighted  up  in  the  human 
heart,  that  is  thus  capable  of  counteracting  the 
ftrongeft  impulfes  of  felf-iove.  It  is  a  ftrono-er 
power,  a  more  forcible  motive,  which  exerts  itielf 
upon  fuch  occafions.  It  is  reaion,  principle,  confci- 
ence,  the  inhabitant  of  the  breaft,  the  man  within 
the  great  judge  and  arbiter  of  our  conduct.  It  is  he 
who,  whenever  we  are  about  to  act  fo  as  to  affect  the 
happinefs  of  others,  calls  to  us  with  a  voice  capable 
of  aftonifhing  the  moll  prefumptuous  of  our  paflions, 
that  we  are  but  one  of  the  multitude,  in  no  refpect 
better  than  any  other  in  it ;  and  that  when  we  prefer 
ourfelves  fo  fhamefully  and  fo  blindly  to  others,  we 
become  the  proper  objects  of  refentment,  abhor- 
rence, and  execration.  It  is  from  him  only  that  we 
learn  the  real  littlenefs  of  ourfelves,  and  of  whatever 
relates  to  ourfelves,  and  the  natural  mifreprefentati- 
onsof  felf-love  can  be  corrected  only  by  the  eye  of 

O  this 


194  Of  rfje  Sense  Tart  III. 

this  impartial  fpectator.  It  is  he  who  mows  us 
the  propriety  of  generofity  and  the  deformity  of  in- 
justice ;  the  propriety  of  refigning  the  greatefl  in- 
terefts of  our  own,  for  the  yet  greater  interefts 
of  others,  and  the  deformity  of  doing  the 
fmalleft  injury  to  another,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
greatefl  benefit  to  ourfelves.  It  is  not  the  love  of 
our  neighbour,  it  is  not  the  love  of  mankind,  which 
upon  many  occafions  prompts  us  to  the  practice  of 
thofe  divine  virtues.  It  is  a  ftronger  love,  a  more 
powerful  affection  which  generally  takes  place  upon 
fuch  occafions,  the  love  of  what  is  honourable  and 
noble,  of  the  grandeur,  and  dignity,  and  Superiority 
of  our  own  characters. 

When  the  happinefs  or  mifery  of  others  depends 
in  any  refpect  upon  our  conduct,  we  dare  not,  as 
felf-love  would  fuggeft  to  us,  prefer  any  little  intereft 
of  our  own,  to  the"yet  greater  intereft  of  our  neigh- 
bour. We  feel  that  we  mould  become  the  proper  ob- 
jects of  the  refentment  and  indignation  of  our  bre- 
thren, and  the  fenfe  of  the  impropriety  of  this  affec- 
tion is  fupported  and  enlivened  by  the  yet  ftronger 
fenfe  of  the  demerit  of  the  action,  which  it  would  in 
this  cafe  give  occafion  to.  But  when  the  happinefs 
or  mifery  of  others  in  no  refpect  depends  upon  our 
conduct,  when  our  own  interefts  are  altogether  fepa- 
rated  and  detached  from  theirs,  fo  that  there  is  nei- 
ther connexion  nor  competition  between  them,  as 
the  fenfe  of  demerit  does  not  in  this  cafe  interpofe, 
the  mere  fenfe  of  impropriety  is  feldom  able  to  re- 
ftrain  us  from  abandoning  ourfelves  to  our  natural 
anxiety  about  our  own  affairs,  and  to  our  natural  in- 
difference about  thofe  of  other  men.  The  moil  vul- 
gar education  teaches  us  to  act,  upon  all  important 
occafions,  with  iome  fort  of  impartiality   between 

ourfelves 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u    t    y. 

ourfelves  and  others,  and  even  the  ordinary  com 
merce  of  the  world  is  capable  of  adjufting  our  active 
principles  to  fome  degree  of  propriety.  But  it  is 
the  mod  artificial  and  refined  education  only,  which 
pretends  to  correct  the  inequalities  of  our  paffive 
feehngs,  and  we  mult  for  this  purpofe  have  recourfe 
to  the  fevereft,  as  well  as  to  the  profoundeft  philofo- 
phy. 

Two  different  fets  of  phi lofophers  have  attempted 
to  teach  us  this  harden:  of  all  the  lefTons  of  morality. 
One  fet  have  laboured  to  increafe  our  fenfibiiityto 
the  interefts  of  others  •  another  to  diminim  that  to 
our  own.  The  firft  would  have  us  feel  for  others  as 
we  naturally  feel  for  ourfelves.  The  fecond  would 
have  us  feel  for  ourfelves,  as  we  naturally  feel  for 
others. 

The  full  are  thofe  melancholy  moralifts,  who  are 
perpetually  reproaching  us  with  our  happinefs,  while 
fo  many  of  our  brethren  are  in  mifery,  *  who  regard 
as  impious  the  natural  joy  of  profperity,  which  does 
not  think  of  the  many  wretches  that  are  at  every  in- 
ftant  labouring  under  all  forts  of  calamities,  in  the 
languor  of  poverty,  in  the  agony  of  difeafe,  in  the 
horrors  of  death,  under  the  infults  and  oppreilion  of 
their  enemies.  Commiferation  for  thofe  miferies 
which  we  never  faw,  which  we  never  heard  of,  but 
which  we  may  be  allured  are  at  all  times  infeiting 
fuch  numbers  of  our  fellow-creatures,  ought,  they 
think,  to  damp  the  pleafures  of  the  fortunate,  and  to 
render  a  certain  melancholy  dejection  habitual  to  all 
men.     But  firft  of  all,  this  extreme  fyrnpathy  with 

O  2  misfortunes, 

*  See  Thomfon's  Seafons,  Winter  : 
"  Ah  !   little  think  the  gay  licentious  proud,"  &c. 
See  al  fo  Pafcal. 


196  Of  the  Sens  i  Part  III. 

misfortunes,  which  we  know  nothing  about,  feems 
altogether  abfurd  and  unreafonable.  Take  the  whole 
earth  at  an  average,  for  one  man  who  iiifTers  pain  or 
mifery,  you  will  find  twenty  in  profperity  and  joy, 
or  at  lead  in  tolerable  circumftances.  No  reafon, 
furely,  can  be  afligned  why  we  mould  rather  weep 
with  the  one  than  rejoice  with  the  twenty.  This 
artificial  commiferation,  befides,  is  not  only  abfurd, 
but  feems  altogether  unattainable  ;  and  thofe  who 
afTeft  this  character  have  commonly  nothing  but  a 
certain  hypocritical  fadnefs,  which,  without  reaching 
the  heart,  ferves  only  to  render  the  countenance  and 
converfation  impertinently  difmal  and  difagreeabie. 
And  laft  of  all,  this  difpofition  of  mind,  though  it 
could  be  attained,  would  be  perfectly  ufelefs,  and 
could  ferve  no  other  purpofe  than  to  render  miferabte 
the  perfon  who  was  pofTefled  of  it.  Whatever  in- 
tereft  we  take  in  the  fortune  of  thofe  with  whom 
we  have  no  acquaintance  or  connexion,  and  who 
are  placed  altogether  out  of  the  fphere  of  our  activity, 
can  produce  only  anxiety  to  ourfelves,  without  any 
manner  of  advantage  to  them.  To  what  purpofe 
mould  we  trouble  ourfelves  about  the  world  in  the 
moon  ?  All  men,  even  thofe  at  the  greatefl  diftance, 
are  no  doubt  entitled  to  our  good  wifhes,  and  our 
good  wifhes  we  naturally  give  them.  But  if,  not- 
withstanding, they  mould  be  unfortunate,  to  give 
ourfelves  any  anxiety  upon  that  account,  feems  to 
be  no  part  of  our  duty.  That  we  mould  be  but 
little  interefted,  therefore,  in  the  fortune  of  thofe 
whom  we  can  neither  ferve  nor  hurt,  and  who  are  in 
every  refpedt,  fo  very  remote  from  us,  feems  wifely 
ordered  by  nature  ;  and  if  it  were  poffible  to 
alter  in  this  refpe&  the  original  conftitutiori  of  our 
frame,  we  could  yet  gain  nothing  by  the  change. 


Among 


Chap.  2.  of   D  U  T  Y.    .  ipy 

Among  the  moralifts  who  endeavour  to  correct 
the  natural  inequality  of  our  paflive  feelings  by  di- 
mini  filing  our  fenfibility  to  what  peculiarly  concerns 
ourfelves,  we  may  count  all  the  ancient  fedts  of  phi- 
lofophers,  but  particularly  the  ancient  ftoics.  Man, 
according  to  the  ftoics,  ought  to  regard  himfelf,  not 
as  iomething  feparated  and  detached,  but  as  a  citi- 
zen of  the  world,  a  member  of  the  vaft  common- 
wealth of  nature.  To  the  intereft  of  this  great  com- 
munity, he  ought  at  all  times  to  be  willing  that  his 
own  little  intereil  mould  be  facrificed.  Whatever 
concerns  himfelf,  ought  to  affect  him  no  more  than 
whatever  concerns  any  other  equally  important  part 
of  this  immenfe  fyftem.  We  mould  view  ourfelves, 
not  in  the  light  in  which  our  own  felfifh  paflions  are 
apt  to  place  us,  but  in  the  light  in  which  any  other 
citizen  of  the  world  would  view  us.  What  befalls 
ourfelves  we  iliould  regard  as  what  befalls  our  neigh- 
bour, or,  what  comes  to  the  fame  thing,  as  our 
neighbour  regards  what  befalls  us.  "  When  our 
"  neighbour,"  fays  Epidtetus,  "  lofes  his  wife  or  his 
"  fon,  there  is  nobody  who  is  not  fenfible  that  this  is  a 
"  human  calamity,  a  natural  event  altogether,  accord- 
91  ing  to  the  ordinary  courfe  of  things :  but  when 
"  the  fame  thing  happens  to  ourfelves,  then  we  cry 
tc  out,  as  if  we  had  fuffered  the  moft  dreadful  misfor- 
M  tune.  We  ought,  however,  to  remember  how 
"  we  were  affedted  when  this  accident  happened  to 
"  another,  and  fuch  as  we  were  in  his  cafe,  fuch 
"  ought  we  to  be  in  our  own."  How  diffi- 
cult foever  it  may  be  to  attain  this  fupreme  degree 
of  magnanimity  and  firmnefs,  it  is  by  no  means  ei- 
ther abfurd  or  ufelefs  to  attempt  it.  Though  few 
men  have  the  floical  idea  of  what  this  perfect  pro- 
priety requires,  yet  all  men  endeavour  in  fome  mea- 

O  3  toe 


198  Of  the  Sense  Part  ill, 

lure  to  command  themfelves,  and  to  bring  down 
their  feliifh  paflions  to  fomething  which  their  neigh- 
bour can  go  along  with.  But  this  can  never  be  done 
Co  effectually  as  by  viewing  whatever  befalls  them- 
felves in  the  light  in  which  their  neighbours  are  apt 
to  view  it.  The  floical  philofophy,  in  this  refpect, 
does  little  more  than  unfold  our  natural  ideas  of 
perfection.  There  is  nothing  abfurd  or  improper, 
therefore,  in  aiming  at  this  perfect  felf-command. 
Neither  would  the  attainment  of  it  be  ufelefs,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  the  moft  advantageous  of  all  things, 
as  eitablifning  our  happinefs  upon  the  moft  folid  and 
fecure  foundation,  a  firm  confidence  in  that  wifdom 
and  juftice  which  governs  the  world,  and  an  entire 
refignation  of  ourfelves,  and  of  whatever  relates  to 
ourfelves  to  the  all- wife  difpofal  of  this  ruling  prin- 
ciple in  nature. 

It  fcarce  ever  happens,  however,  that  we  are  ca- 
pable of  adj lifting  our  paflive  feelings  to  this  perfect 
propriety.  We  indulge  ourfelves,  and  even  the 
world  indulges  us,  in  fome  degree  of  irregularity  in 
this  refpect.  Though  we  mould  be  too  much  af- 
fected by  what  concerns  ourfelves,  and  too  little  by 
what  concerns  other  men,  )  et,  if  we  always  act  with 
impartiality  between  ourfelves  and  others,  if  we  ne- 
ver actually  facrifice  any  great  intereft  of  others,  to 
any  little  intereft  of  our  own,  we  are  eafily  pardon- 
ed: and  it  were  well,  if,  upon  all  occafions,  thofe 
who  defire  to  do  their  duty  were  capable  of  main- 
taining even  this  degree  of  impartiality  between 
themfelves  and  others.  But  this  is  Very  far  from 
being  the  cafe.  Even  in  good  men,  the  judge  with- 
in is  often  in  danger  of  being  corrupted  by  the  vio- 
lence and  injustice  of  their  feltifti  paflions,  and  is 

often 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  199 

often  induced  to  make  a  report  very  different  from 
what  the  real  circumftances  of  the  cafe  are  capable 
of  authorizing. 

There  are  two  different  occafions,  upon  which  we 
examine  our  own  conduct,  and  endeavour  to  view 
it  in  the  light  in  which  the  impartial  Spectator  would 
view  it.  Firft,  when  we  are  about  to  act ;  and,  Se- 
condly, after  we  have  acted.  Our  views  are  very 
partial  in  both  cafes,  but  they  are  mofl  fo,  when  it 
is  of  mofl  importance  that  they  fhould  be  otherwife. 

When  we  are  about  to  act,  the  eagernefs  of  paf- 
fion  will  feldom  allow  us  to  confider  what  we  are 
doing  with  the  candour  of  an  indifferent  perfon. 
The  violent  emotions  which  at  that  time  agitate  us, 
diicolour  our  views  of  things,  even  when  we  are  en- 
deavouring to  place  ourfelves  in  the  fjtuation  of  ano- 
ther, and  to  regard  the  objects  that  intereft  us,  in 
the  light  in  which  they  will  naturally  appear  to  him. 
The  fury  of  our  own  paflions  conftantly  galls  us 
back  to  our  own  place,  where  every  thing  appears 
magnified  and  mifreprefented  by  felf-love.  Of  the 
manner  in  which  thofe  objects  would  appear  to  an- 
other, of  the  view  which  he  would  take  of  them,  we 
can  obtain,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  but  inflantaneous 
glimpfes,  which  vanifh  in  a  moment,  and  which 
even  while  they  laft  are  not  altogether  juft.  We 
cannot  even  for  that  moment  divefl  ourfelves  entire- 
ly of  the  heat  and  keennefs  with  which  our  peculiar 
fituation  infpires  us,  nor  confider  what  we  are  about 
to  do  with  the  complete  impartiality  of  an  equitable 
judge.  The  paflions,  upon  this  account,  as  father 
Jvlalebranche  fays,  all  juftify  themfelves,  and  feem 

O  4  reasonable, 


200  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Part  III. 

reafonable,  and   proportioned   to   their  objects,   as 
long  as  we  continue  to  feel  them. 

When  the  action  is  over,  indeed,  and  the  pafiions 
which  prompted  it  have  fubfided,  we  can  enter  more 
coolly  into  fentiments  of  the  indifferent  fpectator. 
What  before  interelted  us,  is  now  become  almoit  as 
indifferent  to  us  as  it  always  was  to  him,  and  we  can 
now  examine  our  own  condu&  with  his  candour  and 
impartiality.     But  our  judgments  now  are  of  little 
importance,  compared  to   what  they  were  before; 
and  when  they  are  molt  feverely  impartial,  can  com- 
monly produce  nothing  but  vain   regret,  and  un- 
availing repentance,  without  fecuring  us,  from  the 
like  errors  for  the  future.     It  is  feidom,  however, 
that  they  are  quite  candid  even  in  this  cafe.     The 
opinion  which  we  entertain   of  our  own  character, 
depends  entirely  on  our  judgment   concerning  our 
paft  conduct.     It  is  lb  difagreeable  to  think  ill  of 
ourfelves,  that  we  often  purpofely  turn  away  our 
view  from  thofe  circumflances  which  might  render 
that  judgment  unfavourable.     He  is  a  bold  furgeon, 
they  fay,  whofe  hand  does  not  tremble  when  he 
performs  an  operation  upon  his  own  perfon  -9  and  he 
is  often  equally  bold  who  does  not  hefitate  to  pull 
off  the  myflerious  veil  of  felf-delufion,  which  covers 
from  his  view  the  deformities  of  his  own  conduct. 
Rather  than  lee  our  own  behaviour  under  fo  difagree- 
able an  afpect,  we  too  often,  fooliinly  and  weakly, 
endeavour  to  exafperate  anew  thofe  unjurt  pailions 
which  had  formerly  milled  us ;  we  endeavour  by  ar- 
tifice to  awaken  our  old  hatreds,  and  irritate  afrefh 
our   almoil  forgotten  refentments  ;  we    even  exert 
ourfelves  for  this  miferable  purpofe,  and  thus  per- 
fevere  in  injuftice,  merely  becaufe  we  once  were  tin- 

juft, 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  201 

juft,  and  becaufe  we  are  afhamed  and  afraid  to  fee 
that  we  were  fo. 

So  partial  are  the  views  of  mankind  with  regard 
to  the  propriety  of  their  own  conduct,  both  at  the 
time  of  action  and  after  it  •  and  fo  difficult  is  it  for 
them  to  view  it  in  the  light  in  which  any  indifferent 
fpectator  would  confider  it.  But  if  it  was  by  a  pe- 
culiar faculty,  fuch  as  the  moral  fenfe  is  fuppofed  to 
be,  that  they  judged  of  their  own  conduct,  if  they 
were  endued  with  a  particular  power  of  perception, 
which  diftinguifhed  the  beauty  or  deformity  of  paf- 
fions  and  affections  ;  as  their  own  paffions  would  be 
more  immediately  expofed  to  the  view  of  this  fa- 
culty, it  would  judge  with  more  accuracy  concern- 
ing them,  than  concerning  thofe  of  other  men,  of 
which  it  had  only  a  more  diflant  profpect. 

This  felf-deceit,  this  fatal  weaknefs  of  mankind, 
is  the  fource  of  half  the  diforders  of  human  life.  If 
we  faw  ourfelves  in  the  light  in  which  others  fee  us, 
or  in  which  they  would  fee  us  if  they  knew  all,  a  re- 
formation would  generally  be  unavoidable.  We 
could  not  otherwife  endure  the  fight. 

Nature,  however,  has  not  left  this  weaknefs,  which 
is  of  fo  much  importance,  altogether  without  a  re- 
medy •  nor  has  fhe  abandoned  us  entirely  to  the  de- 
lufions  of  felf-love.  Our  continual  obfervations  up- 
on the  conduct  of  others,  infenfibly  lead  us  to  form 
to  ourfelves  certain  general  rules  concerning  what  is 
fit  and  proper  either  to  be  done  or  to  be  avoided, 
Some  of  their  actions  mock  all  our  natural  fenti- 
ments.  We  hear  every  body  about  us  exprefs  the 
like  deteftation  againft  them.  This  flill  further  con- 
firms, and  even   exafperates  our  natural  {en(e   of 

their 


202  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Part  Ilf. 

their  deformity.  It  fatisfies  us  that  we  view  them 
in  the  proper  light,  when  we  fee  other  people  view 
them  in  the  fame  light.  We  refolve  never  to  be 
guilty  of  the  like,  nor  ever,  upon  any  account,  to 
render  ourfelves  in  this  manner  the  objects  of  uni^- 
verfal  difapprobation  We  thus  naturally  lay  down 
to  ourfelves  a  general  rule,  that  all  fuch  actions  are 
to  be  avoided,  as  tending  to  render  us  odious,  con- 
temptible, or  punifhable,  the  objects  of  all  thofe 
fentiments  for  which  we  have  the  grcatefl  dread  and 
averfion.  Other  actions,  on  the  contrary,  call  forth 
our  approbation,  and  we  hear  every  body  around  us 
exprefs  the  fame  favourable  opinion  concerning 
them.  Every  body  is  eager  to  honour  and  reward 
them.  They  excite  all  thofe  fentiments  for  which 
we  have  by  nature  the  flrongefl  defire  $  the  love,  the 
gratitude,  the  admiration  of  mankind.  We  become 
ambitious  of  performing  the  like  ;  and  thus  naturally 
lay  down  to  ourfelves  a  rule  of  another  kind,  that 
every  opportunity  of  acting  in  this  manner  is  care-? 
fully  to  be  fought  after. 

It  is  thus  that  the  general  rules  of  morality  are 
formed.  They  are  ultimately  founded  upon  expe- 
rience of  what,  in  particular  inftances,  our  moral  fa- 
culties, our  natural  fenfe  of  merit  and  propriety, 
approve,  or  difapprove  of.  We  do  not  originally 
approve  or  condemn  particular  actions  •,  becaufe,  up- 
on examination,  they  appear  to  be  agreeable  or  in- 
confiftent  with  a  certain  general  rule.  The  general 
rule,  on  the  contrary,  is  formed  by  finding  from  ex- 
perience, that  all  actions  of  a  certain  kind,  or  cir- 
cumftanced  in  a  certain  manner,  are  approved  or 
difapproved  of.  To  the  man  who  firft  faw  an  in- 
human murder,  committed  from  avarice,  envy,  or 

unjuft 


Chap.  2.  of  D  u  t  y.  203 

imjuft  refentment,  and  upon  one  too  that  loved  and 
trufted  the  murderer,  who  beheld'  the  laft  agonies  of 
the  dying  perfon,  who  heard  him,  with  his  expiring 
breath,  complain  more  of  the  perfidy  and  ingrati- 
tude of  his  falfe  friend,  than  of  the  violence  which 
had  been  done  to  him,  there  could  be  no  occafion, 
in  order  to  conceive  how  horrible  fuch  an  action  was, 
that  he  mould  reflect,  that  one  of  the  moft  facred 
rules  of  conduct  was  what  prohibited  the  taking 
away  the  life  of  an  innocent  perfon,  that  this  was  a 
plain  violation  of  that  rule,  and  confequently  a  very 
blamable  a&ion.  His  deteftation  of  this  crime,  it 
is  evident,  would  arife  inilantaneouily  and  antece- 
dent to  his  having  formed  to  himfelf  any  fuch  ge- 
neral rule.  The  general  rule,  on  the  contrary, 
which  he  might  afterwards  form,  would  be  founded 
upon  the  deteflation  which  he  felt  neceifarily  arife  in 
his  own  breaft,  at  the  thought  of  this,  and  every 
other  particular  action  of  the  fame  kind. 

When  we  read  in  hillory  or  romance,  the  account 
of  actions  either  of  generofity  or  of  bafenefs,  the  ad- 
miration which  we  conceive  for  the  one,  and  the 
contempt  which  we  feel  for  the  other,  neither 
of  them  arife  from  reflecting  that  there  are  certain 
general  rules  which  declare  all  actions  of  the  one 
kind  admirable,  and  all  actions  of  the  other  con- 
temptible. Thofe  general  rules,  on  the  contrary, 
are  all  formed  from  the  experience  we  have  had  of 
the  effects  which  actions  of  all  different  kinds  natu- 
rally produce  upon  us. 

An  amiable  action,  a  refpectable  adion,  an  hor- 
rid action,  are  all  of  them  actions  which  naturally 
excite  the  love,  the  refpect,   or  the  horror  of  the 

fpectator. 


204  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

fpectator,  for  the  perfon  who  performs  them.  The 
general  rules  which  determine  what  actions  are, 
and  what  are  not,  the  objects  of  each  of  thofe  fenti- 
ments,  can  be  formed  no  other  way  than  by  observ- 
ing what  actions  actually  and  in  fact  excite  them. 

When  thefe  general  rules,  indeed,  have  been 
formed,  when  they  are  univerfally  acknowledged 
and  eflablifhed,  by  the  concurring  fentiments  of 
mankind,  we  frequently  appeal  to  them  as  to  the 
ftandards  of  judgment,  in  debating  concerning  the 
degree  of  praife  or  blame  that  is  due  to  certain  ac- 
tions of  a  complicated  and  dubious  nature.  They 
are  upon  thefe  occafions  commonly  cited  as  the  ulti- 
mate foundations  of  what  is  juft  and  unjufl  in  hu- 
man conduct ;  and  this  circumitance  feems  to  have 
milled  feveral  very  eminent  authors,  to  draw  up 
their  fyflems  in  fuch  a  manner,  as  if  they  had  fup- 
pofed  that  the  original  judgments  of  mankind  with 
regard  to  right  and  wrong,  were  formed  like  the 
decifions  of  a  court  of  judicatory,  by  confidering 
firfl  the  general  rule,  and  then,  fecondly,  whether 
the  particular  action  under  confideration  fell  properly 
within  its  comprehenfion. 

Thofe  general  rules  of  conduct,  when  they  have 
been  fixed  in  our  mind  by  habitual  reflection,  are  of 
great  ufe  in  correcting  mifreprefentations  of  felf-love 
concerning  what  is  fit  and  proper  to  be  done  in  our 
particular  fituation.  The  man  of  furious  refentment, 
if  he  was  to  liflen  to  the  dictates  of  that  paflion, 
would  perhaps  regard  the  death  of  his  enemy,  as  but 
a  fmall  compenfation  for  the  wrong,  he  imagines, 
he  has  recehed  ;  which,  however,  may  be  no  more 
than  a  very  flight  provocation.     But  his  obfervations 

upon 


Chap.  z.  ,  of  D  u  t  y.  205 

upon  the  conduct  of  others,  have  taught  him  how 
horrible  all  fuch  fanguinary  revenges  appear.  Un~ 
lefs  his  education  has  been  very  lingular,  he  has  laid 
it  down  to  himfelf  as  an  inviolable  rule,  to  abftain 
from  them  upon  all  occafions.  This  rule  preferves 
its  .authority  with  him,  and  renders  him  incapable  of 
being  guilty  of  fuch  a  violence.  Yet  the  fury  of  his 
own  temper  may  be  fuch,  that  had  this  been  the 
mil  time  in  which  he  confidered  fuch  an  action,  he 
would  undoubtedly  have  determined  it  to  be  quite 
juft  and  proper,  and  what  every  impartial  fpectator 
would  approve  of.  But  that  reverence  for  the  rule 
which  paft  experience  has  impreffed  upon  him,  checks 
the  impetuofity  of  his  paflion,  and  helps  him  to  cor- 
rect the  too  partial  views  which  felf-love  might 
other  wife  fugged,  of  what  was  proper  to  be  done 
in  his  fituation.  If  he  fhould  allow  himfelf  to  be 
fo  far  tranfported  by  paflion  as  to  violate  this  rule, 
yet  even  in  this  cafe,  he  cannot  throw  off  altogether 
the  awe  and  refpect  with  which  he  has  been  accuf- 
tomed  to  regard  it.  At  the  very  time  of  acting,  at 
the  moment  in  which  paflion  mounts  the  higheft,  he 
hefitates  and  trembles  at  the  thought  of  what  he  is 
about  to  do  :  he  is  fecretly  confcious  to  himfelf  that 
he  is  breaking  through  thofe  meafures  of  conduct, 
which,  in  all  his  cool  hours,  he  had  refolved  never 
to  infringe,  which  he  had  never  feen  infringed  by 
others  without  the  higheft  difapprobation,  and  of 
which  the  infringement,  his  own  mind  forebodes, 
mult  foon  render  him  the  object  of  the  fame  dif- 
agreeable  fentiments.  Before  he  can  take  the  laft 
fatal  refolution,  he  is  tormented  with  all  the  agonies 
of  doubt  and  uncertainty ;  he  is  terrified  at  the 
thought  of  violating  fo  facred  a  rule,  and  at  the  fame 
time  is  urged  and  goaded  on  by  the  fury  of  his  de- 
fires 


206  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Fart  III. 

fires  to  violate  it.     He  changes  his  purpofe  every 
moment ;    fometimes  he  refolves  to  adhere  to  his 
principle,  and  not  indulge  a  paflion  which  may  cor- 
rupt the  remaining  part  of  his  life  with  the  horrors  of 
fhame    and    repentance;    and   a  momentary  calm 
takes  pofleflion  of  his  breaft,  from  the  profpeft  of 
that  fecurity  and  tranquillity  which  he  will  enjoy 
when  he  thus  determines  not  to  expofe  himfelf  to 
the  hazard  of  a  contrary  conduct.     But  immediately 
the  paffion  roufes  anew,  and  with  frefh  fury  drives 
him  on  to  commit  what  he  had  the  inflant  before  re- 
folved    to    abftain  from.     Wearied  and   diftradted 
with    thcfe    continual   irrefolutions,   he   at    length, 
from  a  fort  of  defpair,  makes  the  lafl  fatal  and  ir- 
recoverable ftep ;  but  with  that  terror  and  amaze- 
ment with  which  one  flying  from  an  enemy,  throws 
himfelf  over  a  precipice,  where  he  is  fure  of  meet- 
ing with  more  certain  deftruclion  than  from   any 
thing  that  purfues  him  from  behind.     Such  are  his 
fentiments  even  at  the  time  of  acting  ;  though  he  is 
then,  no  doubt,  lefs  fenfible  of  the  impropriety  of 
his  own  conduct  than  afterwards,  when  his  painon 
being  gratified  and  palled,  he  begins  to  view  what 
he  has  done  in  the  light  in  which  others  are  apt  to 
view  it ;  and  actually  feels,  what  he  had  only  fore- 
feen  very  imperfectly  before,  the  flings  of  remorfe 
and  repentance  begin  to  agitate  and  torment  him. 


C  H  A  P. 


Chap.  3,  of  D  u  1  y.  207 


CHAP.     III. 


Of  the  influence  and  authority  of  the  general  rules  of  mo- 
rality, and  that  they  are  juftly  regarded  as  the  laws  of 
the  Deity. 

1  HE  regard  to  thofe  general  rules  of  conduct, 
is  what  is  properly  called  a  tenfe  of  duty,  a  prin- 
ciple of  the  greatefl  confequence  in  human  life,  and 
the  only  principle  by  which  the  bulk  of  mankind  are 
capable  of  directing  their  adions.  Many  men  be- 
have very  decently,  and  through  the  whole  of  their 
lives  avoid  any  conliderable  degree  of  blame,  who 
yet,  perhaps,  never  felt  the  fentiment  upon  the 
propriety  of  which  we  found  our  approbation  of 
their  conduct,  but  acted  merely  from  a  regard  to 
what  they  faw  were  the  eftablifhed  rules  of  beha- 
viour. The  man  who  has  received  great  benefits 
from  another  perfon,  may,  by  the  natural  coldnefs  of 
his  temper,  feel  but  a  very  fmall  degree  of  the  fenti- 
ment of  gratitude.  If  he  has  been  virtuoufly  educated, 
however,  he  will  often  have  been  made  to  obferve 
how  odious  thofe  actions  appear  which  denote  a 
want  of  this  fentiment,  and  how  amiable  the  con- 
trary. Tho'  his  heart  therefore  is  not  warmed  with 
any  grateful  affection,  he  will  ftrive  to  act  as  if  it 
was,  and  will  endeavour  to  pay  all  thofe  regards 
and  attentions  to  his  patron  which  the  livelieft  gra- 
titude 


208  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

titude  could  fuggeft.  He  will  vifit  him  regularly ; 
he  will  behave  to  him  refpedtfully ;  he  will  never 
talk  of  him  but  with  expreilions  of  the  higheft  ef- 
teem,  and  of  the  many  obligations  which  he  owes 
to  him.  And  what  is  more,  he  will  carefully  em- 
brace every  opportunity  of  making  a  proper  return 
for  pad  fervices.  He  may  do  all  this  too  without 
any  hypocrify  or  blamable  diiTimulation,  without 
any  felfiiTi  intention  of  obtaining  new  favours,  and 
without  any  defign  of  impofing  either  upon  his  be- 
nefactor or  the  public.  The  motive  of  his  actions 
may  be  no  other  than  a  reverence  for  the. edabli  (Tied 
rule  of  duty,  a  ferious  and  earned  defire  of  acting, 
in  every  refpecl,  according  to  the  law  of  gratitude. 
A  wife,  in  the  fame  manner,  may  iometimes  not 
feel  that  tender  regard  for  her  hufband  which  is  fuit- 
able  to  the  relation  that  fubfifls  between  them.  If 
ihe  has  been  virtuoufly  educated,  however,  ihe  will 
endeavour  to  adt  as  if  fhe  felt  it,  to  be  careful,  of- 
ficious, faithful,  aid  fmcere,  and  to  be  deficient  in 
none  of  thofe  attentions  which  the  fentiment  of  con- 
jugal affection  could  have  prompted  her  to  perform. 
Such  a  friend,  and  fuch  a  wife,  are  neither  of  them, 
undoubtedly,  the  very  bell  of  their  kinds  ^  and 
though  both  of  them  may  have  the  mod  ferious  and 
earned  defire  to  fulfil  every  part  of  their  duty,  yet 
they  will  fail  in  many  nice  and  delicate  regards, 
they  will  mifs  many  opportunities  of  obliging,  which 
they  could  never  have  overlooked  if  they  had  pof- 
felTed  the  fentiment  that  is  proper  to  their  fituation. 
Though  not  the  very  fird  of  their  kinds,  however, 
they  are  perhaps  the  fecond  \  and  if  the  regard  to 
the  general  rules  of  conduct  has  been  very  drongly 
impreflfed  upon  them,  neither  of  them  will  fail  in 
any  eflential  part  of  their  duty.     None  but  thofe  of 

the 


Chap.  g.  of  Duty.  209 

the  happieft  mould  are  capable  of  iuiting,  with  ex- 
act  juftnefs,  their  fentiments  and  behaviour  to  the 
fmalieft  difference  of  fituation,  and  of  acting  upon 
all  occafions  with  the  moll:  delicate  and  accurate 
propriety.  The  coarfe  clay  of  which  the  bulk  of 
mankind  are  formed,  cannot  be  wrought  up  to  filch 
perfection.  There  is  fcarce  any  man,  however, 
who  by  difcipline,  education,  and  example,  may  not 
be  imprefled  with  a  regard  to  general  rules,  as  to  act 
upon  almoft  every  occafion  with  toleiable  decency, 
and  through  the  whole  of  his  life  avoid  any  confi- 
derable  degree  of  blame. 

Without  this  facred  regard  to  general  rules,  there 
is  no  man  whofe  conduct  can  be  much  depended 
upon.     It  is  this  which  conftitutes  the  mofl  eiiential 
difference  between  a  man  of  principle  and  honour 
and  a  worthlefs  fellow.     The  one  adheres,  on  all 
occafions,  fleadily  and  refolutely  to   his   maxims, 
and  prefer ves  through  the  whole  of  his  life  one  even 
tenour  of  conduct.     The  other,  acts  varioufly  and 
accidentally,    as   humujr,    inclination,    or   intereft 
chance  to  be  uppermoft.     Nay,  fuch  are  the  ine- 
qualities of  humour  to  which  all  men  are  fubject? 
that  without  this  principle,  the  man  who,  in  his  cool 
hours,  had  the  mofl  delicate  fenfibility  to  the  pro- 
priety of  conduct,  might  often  be  led   to  act  ab- 
furdly  upon  the  moft  frivolous  occafions,  and  when 
it  v/as  fcarce  poflible  to  affign  any  ferious  motive  for 
his  behaviour  in  this  manner.     Your  friend  makes 
you  a  vifit  when  you  happen  to  be  in  a  humour 
which  makes  it  difagreeable  to  receive  him  :  in  your 
prefent  mood  this  civility  is  very  apt  to  appear  an 
impertinent  intrufion  ;  and  if  you  v/ereto  give  way 
to  .the  views  of  things  which  at  this   time  occur, 

p  though 


21o  Of 'the  Sense  Part  III. 

though  civil  in  your  temper,  you  would  behave  to 
him  with  coldnefs  and  contempt.     What  renders 
you  incapable  of  fuch  a  rudenefs,  is  nothing  but  a 
regard  to  the  general  rules  of  civility  and  hofpitality, 
which  prohibit  it.     That  habitual  reverence  which 
your  former  experience  has  taught  you  for  thefe, 
enables  you  to  ad,  upon  all  fuch  occafions,  with 
nearly  equal  propriety,  and  hinders  thofe  inequa- 
lities of  temper,  to  which  all  men  are  fubject,  from 
influencing  your  conduct  in  any  very  fenjible  degree. 
But  if  without  regard  to  thefe  general  rules,  even 
the  duties  of  politenefs,  which  are  fo  eafily  obferv- 
ed,  and  which  can  fcarce  have  any  ferious  motive 
to  violate,   would   yet   be   fo  frequently   violated, 
what  would  become  of   the  duties    of  juftice,   of 
truth,  of  chaftity,  of  fidelity,  which  it  is   often  fo 
difficult  to  obferve,  and  which  there  may  be  fo  ma- 
ny flrong  motives  to  violate  ?  But  upon  the  toler- 
able obfervance  of  thefe  duties,  depends  the  very 
exiftence  of  human  fociety,  which  would  crumble 
into  nothing  if  mankind  were  not  generally  impref- 
fed  with  a  reverence  for   thofe  important  rules  of 
conduct. 

This  reverence  is  flill  further  enhanced  by  an  opi- 
nion which  is  firfl  imprefled  by  nature,  and  after- 
wards confirmed  by  feafoning  and  philofophy,  that 
.  thofe  important  rules  of  morality,  are  the  commands 
and  laws  of  the  Deity,  who  will  finally  reward  the 
obedient,  and  punifh  the  tranfgreiiors  of  their  duty. 

This  opinion  or  apprehenfion,  I  fay*  feems  Brit  to 
be  imprefled  by  nature.     Men  are  naturally  led  to 
afcribe  to  thofe  myfterious  beings,  whatever  they 
are,  which  happen^  in  any  countrv,  to  be  the  ob- 
jects 


Chap.  3.  of  D  u  t  y.  211 

jecls  of  religious  fear,  all  their  own  fentiments  and 
paflions.  They  have  no  other,  they  can  conceive 
no  other  to  aferibe  to  them.  Thofe  unknown  in- 
telligences which  they  imagine  but  fee  not,  mult 
neceflarily  be  formed  with  fome  fort  of  refemblance 
to  thofe  intelligences  of  which  they  have  experience. 
During  the  ignorance  and  darknefs  of  pagan  fuper- 
ftition,  mankind  feem  to  have  formed  the  ideas  of 
their  divinities  with  fo  little  delicacy,  that  they  af- 
cribed  to  them,  indifcriminately,  all  the  paflions  of 
human  nature,  thofe  not  excepted  which  do  the 
leaft  honour  to  our  fpecies,  fuch  as  luft,  hunger, 
avarice,  envy,  revenge.  They  could  not  fail  there- 
fore, to  aferibe  to  thofe  beings,  for  the  excellence 
of  whofe  nature  they  ltill  conceived  the  higheft  ad- 
miration, thofe  fentiments  and  qualities  which  are 
the  great  ornaments  of  humanity,  and  which  feem 
to  raife  it  to  a  refemblance  of  divine  perfection,  the 
love  of  virtue  and  beneficence,  and  the  abhorrence 
of  vice  and  injuftice.  The  man  who  was  injured, 
called  upon  Jupiter  to  be  witnefs  of  the  wrong  that 
was  done  to  him,  and  could  not  doubt,  but  that  di- 
vine being  would  behold  it  with  the  fame  indigna- 
tion which  would  animate  the  meaneft  of  man- 
kind, who  looked  on  when  injuftice  was  committed, 
The  man  who  did  the  injury,  felt  himfelf  to  be 
the  proper  object  of  deteftation  and  refentment  of 
mankind  ;  and  his  natural  fears  led  him  to  impute 
the  fame  fentiments  to  thofe  awful  beings,  whofe 
prefence  he  could  not  avoid,  and  whofe  power  he 
could  not  refift.  Thefe  natural  hopes  and  fears, 
and  fufpicions,  were  propagated  by  fympathy,  and 
confirmed  by  education  ;  and  the  gods  were  univer- 
fally  reprefented  and  believed  to  be  the  rewarders 
of  humanity  and  mercy,  and  the  avengers  of  per- 

P2  fidy 


2i2  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Part  III. 

fidy  and  injuftice.  And  thus  religion,  even  in  its 
rudeft  form,  gave  a  fan&ion  to  the  rules  of  mora- 
lity, long  before  the  age  of  artificial  reafoning  and 
philofophy.  That  the  terrors  of  religion  mould 
thus  enforce  the  natural  fenie  of  duty,  was  of  too 
much  importance  to  the  happinefs  of  mankind,  for 
nature  to  leave  it  dependent  upon  the  flownefs  and 
uncertainty  of  philosophical  refearches. 

Thefe  refearches,  however,  when  they  came  to 
take  place,  confirmed  thofe  original  anticipations  of 
nature      Upon  whatever  we  fuppofe  that  our  moral 
faculties  are  founded,  whether  upon  a  certain  modi- 
fication of  reafon, '  upon  an  original  inflinct,  called  a 
moral  fenfe,  or  upon  fome  other  principle  of  our 
nature,  it  cannot  be  doubted,  that  they  were  given 
us  for  the  direction  of  our  conduct  in  this  life.   They 
carry  along  with  them  the  molt  evident  badges  of 
this  authority,  which  denote  that  they  were  fet  up 
within  us  to  be  the  fupreme  arbiters  of  all  our  actions, 
to  fuperintend  all  our  fenfes,  paflions,  and  appetites, 
and  to  judge  how  far  each  of  them  was  either  to  be 
indulged  or  reflrained.  Our  moral  faculties  are  by  no 
means,  as  fome  have  pretended,  upon  a  level  in  this 
refpecl  with  the  other  faculties  and  appetites  of  our 
nature,  endowed  with  no  more  right  to  reftrain  thefe 
lafl,  than  thefe  lafl  are  to  reflrain  them.     No  other 
faculty  or  principle  of  action  judges  of  any  other. 
Love  does  not  judge  of  refentment,  nor  refentment 
of  love.     Thofe  two  paflions  may  be  oppofite  to  one 
another,  but  cannot,  with  any  propriety,  be  faid  to 
approve  or  difapprove  of  one  another.     But  it  is  the 
peculiar  office  of  thofe  faculties  now  under  our  con- 
federation to  judge,  to  beflow  cenfure  or  applaufe 
upon  all  the  other  principles  of  our  nature.     They 

may 


Chap.  3.  of  D  u  t  y.  213 

may  be  confidered  as  a  fort  of  fenfes  of  which  thofe 
principles  are  the  objects.  Every  fenfe  is  fupreme 
over  its  own  obje&s.  There  is  no  appeal  from  the 
eye  with  regard  to  the  beauty  of  colours,  nor  from 
the  ear  with  regard  to  the  harmony  of  founds,  nor 
from  the  tafte  with  regard  to  the  agreeableneis  of 
flavours.  Each  of  thofe  fenfes  judges  in  the  laft 
refort  of  its  own  objecls.  Whatever  gratifies  the 
tafte  is  fweet,  whatever  pleafes  the  eye  is  beautiful, 
whatever  fooths  the  ear  is  harmonious.  The  very 
eflence  of  each  of  thofe  qualities  confifts  in  being 
fitted  to  pleafe  the  fenfe  to  which  it  is  addreffed.  It 
belongs  to  our  moral  faculties,  in  the  fame  manner 
to  determine  when  the  ear  ought  to  be  foot hed,  when 
the  eye  ought  to  be  indulged,  when  the  tafte  ought 
to  be  gratified,  when  and  how  far  every  other  prin- 
ciple of  our  nature  ought  to  be  indulged  or  reftrain- 
ed.  What  is  agreeable  to  our  moral  faculties,  is  fit, 
and  right,  and  proper  to  be  done ;  the  contrary 
wrong,  unfit,  and  improper.  The  fentiments  which 
they  approve  of,  are  graceful  and  unbecoming.  The 
very  words,  right,  wrong,  fit,  improper,  graceful, 
unbecoming,  mean  only  what  pleafes  or  difpleafes 
thofe  faculties. 

Since  thefe,  therefore,  were  plainly  intended  to  be 
the  governing  principles  of  human  nature,  the  rules 
which  they  prefcribe,  are  to  be  regarded  as  the  com- 
mands and  laws  of  the  Deity,  promulgated  by  thofe 
vicegerents  which  he  has  thus  fet  up  within  us.  All 
general  rules  are  commonly  denominated  laws :  thus 
the  general  rules  which  bodies  obferve  in  the  com- 
munication of  motion,  are  called  the  laws  of  motion. 
But  thofe  general  rules  which  our  moral  faculties 
obferve  in  approving  or  condemning  whatever  fenti- 

p  3  ment 


214  Of  the  S  e  x  s  £  Part  III. 

ment  or  action  is  fubjected  to  their  examination,  may 
much  more juftly  be  denominated  fuch.  They  have 
a  much  greater  refemblance  to  what  are  properly  call- 
ed laws,  thofe  general  rules  which  the  fovereign  lays 
down  to  direct  the  conduct  of  his  fubjects.  Like 
them  they  are  rules  to  direct  the  free  actions  of  men  : 
they  are  prefcribed  molt  furely  by  a  lawful  fuperior, 
and  are  attended  to  in  the  fanction  of  rewards  and 
punifhments.  Thofe  vicegerents  of  God  within  us, 
never  fail  to  punifn  the  violation  of  them,  by  the  tor- 
ments of  inward  fhame,  and  felf-condemnation  ; 
and  on  the  contrary,  always  reward  obedience  with 
tranquillity  of  mind,  with  contentment,  and  felf-fa- 
tisfacYion. 

There  are  innumerable  other  considerations  which 
ferve  to  confirm  the  fame  conclufion.  The.happi- 
nefs  of  mankind,  as  well  as  of  all  other  rational 
creatures,  feems  to  have  been  the  original  pur- 
pofe  intended  by  the  Author  of  nature,  when  he 
brought  them  into  exigence.  No  other  end  feems 
worthy  of  that  fupreme  wifdom  and  divine  benig- 
nity which  we  necefTarily  afcribe  to  him;  and  this 
opinion,  which  we  are  led  to  by  the  abltract  conlider- 
ation  of  his  infinite  perfections,  is  flill  more  con- 
firmed by  the  examination  of  the  works  of  nature, 
which  feem  all  intended  to  promote  happinefs,  and 
to  guard  againft  miiery.  put  by  acting  according 
to  the  dictates  of  our  moral  faculties,  we  necefTarily 
purfue  the  molt  effectual  means  for  promoting  the 
happinefs  of  mankind,  and  may  therefore  be  faid, 
in  fome  fenfe,  to  co-operate  with  the  Deity,  and  to 
advance  as  far  as  in  our  power  the  plan  of  Provi- 
dence. By  acting  otherv,  ays,  on  the  contrary,  we 
feem  to  obftrudt,  In  fome  meafure,  the  fcheme 
which  the  Author  of  nature  has  eitablifhed  for  the 

happinefs 


Chap.  3.  of  D  u  t  y.  215 

happinefs  and  perfection  of  the  world,  and  to  de- 
clare ourfelves,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  in  fome  rneafure  the 
enemies  of  God.  Hence  we  are  naturally  encou- 
raged to  hcpe  for  his  extraordinary  favour  and  re- 
ward in  the  one  cafe,  and  to  dread  his  vengeance 
and  punifhment  in  the  other. 

There  are  befides  many  other  reafons,  and  many 
other  natural  principles,  which  all  tend  to  confirm 
and  inculcate  the  fame  falutary  do&rine.  If  we  con- 
fider  the  general  rules  by  which  external  profperity 
and  adverfity  are  commonly  diflributed  in  this  life, 
we  fhall  find,  that  notwithstanding  the  diforder  in 
which  all  things  appear  to  be  in  this  world,  yet  even 
here  every  vjrtue  naturally  meets  with  its  proper  re- 
ward, with  the  recompenfe  which  is  moft  fit  to  en- 
courage and  promote  it ;  and  this  too  fo  furely,  that 
it  requires  a  very  extraordinary  concurrence  of  cir- 
cumftances  entirely  to  difappoint  it.  What  is  the 
reward  moft  proper  for  encouraging  induftry,  pru^ 
dence,  and  circumfpecYion  ?  Succefs  in  every  fort 
of  bufinefs.  And  is  it  poilible  that  in  the  whole  of 
life  thefe  virtues  (hould  fail  of  attaining  it  t  Wealth 
and  external  honours  are  their  proper  recompenfe, 
and  the  recompenfe  which  they  can  feldom  fail  of 
acquiring.  What  reward  is  moft  proper  for  pro- 
moting the  pradrice  of  truth,  juftice,  and  humanity  ? 
The  confidence,  the  efteem,  and  love  of  thofe  we 
live  with.  Humanity  does  not  defire  to  be  great, 
but  to  be  beloved.  It  is  not  in  being  rich  that  truth 
and  juftice  would  rejoice,  but  in  being  trufted  and 
believed,  recompenfes  which  thofe  virtues  muft  al- 
moft  always  acquire.  By  fome  very  extraordinary 
and  unlucky  circumftance,  a  good  man  may  come 
ro  be'  iufpe&ed  of  a  crime  of  which  he  was  altoge- 

p   4  ther 


ai 6  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

the*  Incapable,  and  upon  that  account  be  molt  ufi- 
iuflly  expofed  for  the  remaining  part  of  his  life  to 
the  horror  and  averfion  of  mankind.     By  an  acci- 
dent of  this  kind  he  may  be  laid  to  iofe  his  all,  not-- 
w  ithilanding  his  integrity  and  juftice \  in  the  fame 
manner  as  a  cautious  man,  not w ithilanding  his  ut- 
mafl  circumfpection,  may  be  ruined  by  an  earth- 
quake  or  an  inundation.      Accidents   of  the  full 
kind,  however,   are  perhaps  fall  more  rare,  and  ftiil 
more  contrary  to  the  common  courfe  of  things  than 
thofe  of  the  fecond  -,  and  fill!  it  remains  true,  that  the 
practice  of  truth,  juftice,  and  humanity,  is  a  certain 
and  almofl  infallible  method  of  acquiring  what  thofe 
virtues  chiefly  aim  at,  the  confidence  and  love  of 
thofe  we  live  with.     A  perfon   may  be  very  eafiiy 
mifreprefented  with  regard   to  a  particular  action; 
but  it  is  fcarce  poflible  that  he  mould  be  fo  with  re- 
gard to  the  general  tenor  of  his  conduct.     An  inno- 
cent man  may  be  believed  to  have  done  wrong : 
this,  however,  will  rarely  happen.     On  the  contra- 
ry, the  eilabhfhed  opinion  of  the  imtoeence  of  his 
manners,  will  often  lead  us  to  abfolve  him  where  he 
has  really  been  in  the  fault,  notwithltanding  very 
flrcng  prefumptions.     A  knave,  in  the  fame  man- 
ner may  efcape  cenfure,  or  even  meet  applaufe,  for 
a  particular  knavery,  in  which  his  conduct  is  not 
under  flood.     But  no  man  was  ever  habitually  fucb, 
without  being  almoft    nniverfaliy  known  to  be  fo, 
and  without  being   even    frequently  fufpecled   of 
guilt,  when  he  was  in  reality  perfectly  innocent. 
And  fo  far  as  vice  and  virtue  can  be  either  punifhed 
or  rewarded  by  the.  fentiments  and  opinions  of  man- 
kind, they  both,  according  to  the  common  courfe 
of  things,   meet  e^en  here  with  fomething   more 
than  exact  and  impartial  juftice. 

But 


Chap.   3.  rf  D  u  t  y.  217 

But  though  the  general  rules  by  which  profperity 
and  adverfity  are  commonly  distributed,  when  con- 
fidered  in  this  cool  and  philosophical  light,  appear  to 
be  perfectly    fuited  to  the  fituation  of  mankind  in 
this  life,  yet  the)  are  by  no  means  fuited  to  feme  of 
our  natural  fentiments.     Our  natural  love  and  ad- 
miration for  fome  virtues  is  fuch,  that   we  mould 
wifli  to  bellow  on  them  all  forts  of  honours  and  re- 
wards,  even    thofe  which  we  mull  acknowledge  to 
be  the  proper  recompenfes  of  other  qualities  with 
which   thofe  virtues  are  not  always   accompanied. 
Our  deteftation,  on  the  contrary,  for  fome   vices  is 
fuch,  that  we  lTioald  defire  to  heap  upon  them  even- 
fort  of  difgrace  and    di fatter,  thofe  not  excepted 
which  are  the  natural  confequences  of  very  different 
qualities.      Magnanimity,     generofity,   and  juftice 
command  fo  high  a  degree  of  admiration,    that  we 
defire  to  fee  them  crowned  with  wealth,  and  power, 
and  honours  of  every  kind,  the  natural  confequences 
of  prudence,   induflry,   and    application  ;    qualities 
with  which  thofe  virtues  are  not  infeparably  connect- 
ed.    Fraud,   falfehood,  brutality,  and  violence,  on 
the  other  hand,  excite  in  every  human  bread  fuch 
fcorn  and  abhorrence,  that  our  indignation  roufes  to 
fee  them  poflefs  thofe  advantages  which  they  may  in 
fome  fenfe  be  faid  to  have  merited,   by  the  diligence 
and  induflry  with  which  they  are  fometimes  attended. 
The  induflrious  knave  cultivates  the  foil ;  the  indo- 
lent good  man  leaves  it  uncultivated.     Who  ought 
to  reap  the  harvefl  ?  Who  ftarve,  and  who  live  in 
plenty?   The  natural  courfe  of  things  decides  it  in 
favour  of  the  knave  :   the  natural  fentiments  of  man- 
kind in  favour  of  the  man  of  virtue.     Man  judges, 
that  the  good  qualities  of  the  one  are  greatly  over-re- 
compenfed  by  thofe  advantages  which  they  tend  to 

procure 


2i  S  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  .     Part  III. 

procure  him,  and  that  the  omiflions  of  the  other  are 
by  far  too  feverely  punifhed  by  the  diftrefs  which 
they  naturally  bring  upon  him  -,  and  human  laws, 
the  confequences  of  human  fentiments,  forfeit  the 
life  and  the  eftate  of  the  induftrious  and  cautious 
traitor,  and  reward,  by  extraordinary  recompenfes, 
the  fidelity  and  public  fpirit  of  the  improvident  and 
carelefs  good  citizen.  Thus  man  is  by  Nature  di- 
rected to  correct,  in  fome  meafure,  that  cMribution 
of  things  which  lhe  herfelf  would  other  wife  have 
made.  The  rules  which  for  this  purpofe  fhe  prompts 
him  to  follow,  are  different  from  thofe  which  fhe 
herfelf  obferves.  She  bellows  upon  every  virtue,  and 
upon  every  vice,  that  precife  reward  or  punifhment 
which  is  bed  fitted  to  encourage  the  one,  or  to  re- 
ftrain  the  other.  She  is  directed  by  this  fole  confede- 
ration, and  pays  little  regard  to  the  different  degrees 
of  merit  and  demerit,  which  they  may  feem  to  poffefs 
in  the  fentiments  and  paflions  of  man.  Man,  on 
the  contrary,  pays  regard  to  this  only,  and  would 
endeavour  to  render  the  date  of  every  virtue  precifely 
proportioned  to  that  degree  of  love  and  efteem,  and 
of  every  vice  to  that  degree  of  contempt  and  abhor- 
rence, which  he  himfelf  conceives  for  it.  The  rules 
which  lhe  follows  are  fit  for  her,  thofe  which  he  fol- 
lows for  him  :  but  both  are  calculated  to  promote  the 
fame  great  end,  the  order  of  the  world,  and  the  per- 
fection and  happinefs  of  human  nature. 

But  though  man  is  thus  employed  to  alter  that 
diftribution  of  things  which  natural  events  would 
make,  if  left  to  themfelves ;  though,  like  the  gods 
of  the  poets,  he  is  perpetually  interpofmg,  by  extra- 
ordinary  means,  in  favour  of  virtue,  and  in  oppofiti- 
on  to  vice,  and  like  them,  endeavours  to  turn  away 

the 


Chap.  3.  of  D  u  t  y.  219 

the  arrow  that  is  aimed  at  the  head  of  the  righteous, 
but  accelerates  the  fword  of  dell: ruction  that  is  lifted 
up  againft  the  wicked  ;  yet  he  is  by  no  means  able 
to  render  the  fortune  of  either  quite  fui table  to  his 
own  fentiments  and  willies.  The  natural  courfe  of 
things  cannot  be  entirely  controuled  by  the  impo- 
tent endeavours  of  man  :  the  current  is  too  rapid  and 
too  flrong  for  him  to  flop  it  j  and  though  the  rules 
which  direct  it  appear  to  have  been  eftabli fried  for 
the  wifeil  and  beft  purpofes,  they  fometimes  pro- 
duce effects  which  fhock  all  his  natural  fentiments. 
That  a,  great  combination  of  men,  ftiould  prevail 
over  a  fmall  one  ;  that  thofe  who  engage  in  an  en~ 
terpriie  with  fore-thought  and  all  neceffary  prepara- 
tion, mould  prevail  over  fuch  as  oppofe  them  with- 
out any  ;  and  that  every  end  mould  be  acquired  by 
thofe  means  only  which  Nature  has  eftablifhed  for 
acquiring  it,  feems  to  be  a  rale  not  only  neceffary 
and  unavoidable  in  itfelf,  but  even  ufeful  and  proper 
for  roufing  the  induftry  and  attention  of  mankind. 
Yet,  when,  in  confequence  of  this  rule,  violence  and 
artifice  prevail  over  fincerity  and  juftice,  what  indig- 
nation does  it  not  excite  in  the  bread  of  every  humane 
fpectator  ?  What  forrow  and  companion  for  the 
lurTerings  of  the  innocent,  and  what  furious  refent- 
ment  againft  the  fuccefs  of  the  oppreffor  ?  We  are 
equally  grieved  and  enraged,  at  the  wrong  that  is 
done,  but  often  find  it  altogether  out  of  our  power 
to  redrefs  it.  When  we  thus  defpair  of  rinding  any 
force  upon  earth  which  can  check  the  triumph  of 
injuftice,  we  naturally  appeal  to  Heaven,  and  hope, 
that  the  great  Author  of  our  nature  will  himfelf  exe- 
cute hereafter,  what  all  the  principles  which  he  has 
given  us  for  the  direction  of  our  conduct,  prompt  us 
to  attempt  even  here  -,   that  he  will  complete  the 

plan 


220  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Part  III. 

plan  which  he  himfelf  has  thus  taught  us  to  begin  ; 
and  will,  in  a  life  to  come,  render  to  every  one  ac- 
cording to  the  works  which  he  has  performed  in  this 
world.  And  thus  we  are  led  to  the  belief  of  a  future 
Hate,  not  only  by  the  weaknelTes,  by  the  hopes  and 
fears  of  human  nature,  but  by  the  nobleft  and  bell 
principles  which  belong  to  it,  by  the  love  of  virtue, 
and  by  the  abhorrence  of  vice  and  injuflice. 

"  Dees  it  fuit  the  greatnefs  of  God,"  fays  the  elo- 
quent and  philofophical  bifhop  of  Clermont,  with 
that  pailionate  and  exaggerating  force  of  imaginati- 
on, which  feems  fometimes  to  exceed  the  bounds  of 
decorum-,  cc  does  it  fuit  the  greatnefs  of  God,  to 
*!  leave  the  world  which  he  has  created  in  fo  uni- 
"  verfal  a  diforder  ?  To  fee  the  wicked  prevail  al- 
"  moil  always  over  the  juft  ;  the  innocent  dethroned 
"  by  the  ufurper  3  the  father  become  the  victim  of 
"  the  ambition  of  an  unnatural  fon  ;  the  hufband 
"  expiring  under  the  ftroke  of  a  barbarous  and  failh- 
;t  lefs  wife  ?  From  the  height  of  his  greatnefs  ought 
"  God  to  behold  thofe  melancholy  events  as  a  fan- 
ic  taflical  amufement,  without  taking  any  fhare  in 

6  them  ?  Becaufe  he  is  great,  fhould  he  be  weak, 
"  or  unjuft,  or  barbarous  ?  Becaufe  men  are  little, 
"  ought  they  to    be  allowed  either  to  be  diilolute 

c  without  punifhment,  or  virtuous  without  reward  ? 
"  O  God  !  if  this  is  the  character  of  your  Supreme 
,c  Being  •,  if  it  is  you  whom  we  adore  under  fuch 
u  dreadful  ideas  •  I  can  no  longer  acknowledge  you 
u  for  my  father,  for  my  protector,  for  the  comforter 
"of  my  forrow,  the  fupport  of  my  weaknefs,  the 
*'  rewarderof  my  fidelity.  You  would  then  be  no 
pt  more  than  an  indolent  and  fantaflical  tyrant,  who 
"  facrifices  mankind  toJiis  infolent  vanitv,  and  who 

«*  has. 


Chap.  3.  of  D  u  t  y.  221 

"  has  brought  them  out  of  nothing,  only  to  make 
"  them  ferve  for  the  fport  of  his  leifure,  and  of  his 
"  caprice." 

When  the  general  rules  which  determine  the  me- 
rit and  dement  of  actions,  come  thus  to  be  regarded, 
as  the  laws  of  an  All-powerful  Being,  who  watches 
over  our  conduct,  and  who,   in  a  life  to  come,  will 
reward  the  obfervance,   and  punifh  the  breach   of 
them  •,  they  neceiTarily  acquire  a  new  facrednefs  from 
this  confideration.      That  our  regard  to  the  will  of 
the  Deity,  ought  to  be  the  fupreme  rule  of  our  con- 
duct, can  be  doubted  of  by  no  body    who  believes 
his  exiitence.     The   very  thought  of  difobedience 
appears  to  involve  in  it  the  moil  (hocking  improprie- 
ty.    How  vain,  how  abfurd  would  it  be  for  man, 
either  to   oppofe  or   to  neglect  the  commands  that 
were  laid  upon  him  by  Infinite  Wifdom,  and   Infi- 
nite  Power !   How  unnatural,  how  impioufly  un- 
grateful not  to  reverence  the  precepts  that  were  pre- 
fcribed  to  him  by  the  infinite  goodnefs  of  his  Creator, 
even  though  no  punifhment  was  to  follow  their  vio- 
lation.    The  fenfe  of  propriety  too  is  here  well  fup- 
ported  by    the   ilrongeft   motives  of    felf-intereft. 
The  idea  that,  however  we  may  efcape  the  obferva- 
tion  of  man,  or  be  placed  above  the  reach  of  human 
punifhment,  yet  we  are  always  acting  under  the  eye, 
and  expofed  to  the  punifhment  of  God,   the  great 
avenger  of  injnflice,  is  a  motive  capable  of  retrain- 
ing the  molt  headftrong  palTions,  with  thofe  at  lead 
who,  by  conftant  reflection,  have  rendered  it  fami- 
liar to  them. 

It  is  in  this  manner  that  religion  enforces  the  na- 
tural fenfe  of  duty  :  and  hence  it  is,  that  mankind 

are 


222  Of  the   StNSE  Part  III. 

are  generally  dilpofed  to  place  great  confidence  in 
the  probity  of  thofe  who  feem  deeply  impreiTed  with 
religious  fentiments.  Such  perfons,  they  imagine^ 
act  under  an  additional  tye,  befides  thofe  which  re- 
gulate the  conduct  of  other  men.  The  regard  to  the 
propriety  of  action  as  well  as  to  reputation,  the  re- 
gard to  the  applaufe  of  his  own  breaft,  as  well  as  that 
of  others,  are  motives  which  they  fuppofe  have  the 
fame  influence  over  the  religious  man,  as  over  the 
man  of  the  world.  But  the  former  lies  under  ano- 
ther reftraint,  and  never  acts  deliberately  but  as  in 
the  prefence  of  that  Great  Superior  who  is  finally  to 
recompenfe  him  according  to  his  deeds.  A  greater 
truft  isrepofed,  upon  this  account,  in  the  regularity 
and  exactnefs  of  his  conduct.  And  wherever  the 
natural  principles  of  religion  are  not  corrupted  by  the 
factious  and  party  zeal  of  fome  worthlefs  cabal  ; 
wherever  the  firft  duty  which  it  requires,  is  to  fulfil 
all  the  obligations  of  morality  h  wherever  men  are  not 
taught  to  regard  frivolous  obfervances,  as  more  im- 
mediate duties  of  religion,  than  acts  of  juflice  and 
beneficence  ;  and  to  imagine,  that  by  facrifices,  and 
ceremonies,  and  vain  fupplications,  they  can  bargain 
with  the  Deity,  for  fraud,  and  perfidy,  and  violence, 
the  world  undoubtedly  judges  right  in  this  refpect, 
andjuftly  places  a  double  confidence  in  the  rectitude 
of  the  religious  man's  behaviour. 


CHAP. 


Chap.  4.  of  D  u  t  y. 


G   H  A  P.     IV. 


In  what  cafes  the  fenfe  of  duty  ought  to  he  the  fole  princi- 
ple of  our  conducl ;  and  in  what  cafes  it  ought  to  concur 
with  other  motives. 


Kj 


.ELIGION  affords  fuch  ftrong  motives   to 
the    practice    of  virtue,    and  guards    us   by  fuch 
powerful  reftraints  from  the  temptations   of  vice, 
that  many  have  been  led  to  fuppofe,  that  religious 
principles  were  the  fole  laudable  motives  of  action. 
We  ought  neither,  they  faid,  to  reward  from  grati- 
tude, nor  punifh  from  refentment  ;  'we  ought  nei- 
ther to  protect  the  helplelfnefs  of  our  children,  nor 
afford  fupport  to  the  infirmities  of  our  parents,  from 
natural  affe&ion.   All  affections  for  particular  objects, 
ought   to  be   extinguished  in  our  breafl,    and  one 
great  affection  take  the  place  of  all  others,  the  love 
of  the  Deity,  the  defire  of  rendering  ourfelves  agree- 
able to  him,  and  of  directing  our  conduct  in  every 
refpect  according  to  his  will.     We  ought  not  to  be 
grateful  from  gratitude,  we  ought  not  to  be  charita- 
ble from  humanity,  we  ought  not  to  be  public-fpirited 
from  the  love  of  our  country,  nor  generous  and  juft 
from  the  love  of  mankind.     The  fole  principle  and 
motive  of  our  conduct  in  the  performance  of  all  thofe 
different  duties,   ought  to  be  a  fenfe  that  God  has 


com- 


224  Of  the  Sense  Fart  III. 

commanded  us  to  perform  them.  I  lhall  not  at  pre- 
fent  take  time  to  examine  this  opinion  particularly  ; 
I  (hall  only  obferve,  that  we  (hould  not  have  expected 
to  have  found  it  entertained  by  any  feci,  who  pro- 
feffed  themfelves  of  a  religion  in  which,  as  it  is  the 
firft  precept  to  love  the  Lord  our  God  with  all  our 
heart,  with  all  our  foul,  and  with  all  our  ftrength,  ib 
it  is  the  fecond  to  love  our  neighbour  as  we  love 
ourfelves  ;  and  we  love  ourfelves  furely  for  our  own 
fakes,  and  not  merely  becaufe  we  are  commanded 
to  do  fo.  That  the  fen(e  of  duty  mould  be  the  fole 
principle  of  our  conduct,  is  no  where  the  precept  of 
Chriilianily  ;  but  that  it  (hould  be  the  ruling  and 
governing  one,  as  philoibphy,  and  as,  indeed,  com- 
mon fenfe  directs.  It  may  be  a  queftion  however, 
in  what  cafes  our  actions  ought  to  arife  chiefly  or  en- 
tirely from  a  fenfe  of  duty,  or  from  a  regard  to  gene- 
ral rules  ;  and  in  what  cafes  fome  other  fentiment  or 
affection  ought  to  concur,  and  have  a  principal  in- 
fluence. 

The  decifion  of  this  queftion,  which  cannot, 
perhaps,  be  given  with  any  very  great  accuracy,  will 
depend  upon  two  different  circumftances  ;  firft, 
upon  the  natural  agreeablenefs  or  deformity  of  the 
fentiment  or  affection  which  would  prompt  us  to  any 
action  independent  of  .all  regard  to  general  rules  ; 
and  fecondly,  upon  the  precifion  and  exact  nefs,  or 
the  loofenefs  and  inaccuracy  of  the  general  rules 
themfelves. 

I.  Firft,  I  fay,  it  will  depend  upon  the  natural 
agreeablenefs  or  deformity  of  the  affection  itfeif,how 
far  our  actions  ought  to  arife  from  it,  or  entirely  pro- 
ceed from  a  regard  t*>  the  general  rule. 

All 


Chap.  4..  of  D  u  t  f. 


22  a 


All  thofe  graceful  and  admired  actions,  to  which 
the  benevolent  affections  would  prompt  us,  ouoht 
to  proceed  as  much  from  the  paffions  themfelves,  as 
from  any  regard  to  the  general  rules  of  conduct. 
A  benefactor  thinks  himfelf  but  ill  requited,  if  the" 
perfon  upon  whom  he  has  bellowed  his  good  offices, 
repays  them  merely  from  a  cold  fenfe  of  duty,  and 
without  any  affection  to  his  perfon.  A  hufband  is 
diffatisfied  with  the  moil  obedient  wife,  when  he 
imagines  her  conduct  is  animated  by  no  other  prin- 
ciple befides  her  regard  to  what  the  relation  fne 
Hands  in  requires.  Though  a  fon  mould  fail  in  none 
of  the  offices  of  filial  duty,  yet  if  he  wants  that  af- 
fectionate reverence  which  it  fo  well  becomes  him  to 
feel,  the  parent  may  juftly  complain  of  his  indiffer- 
ence. Nor  could  a  fon  be  quite  fatisfied  with  a  pa- 
rent who,  though  he  performed  all  the  duties  of  his 
fituation,  had  nothing  of  that  fatherly  fondnefs 
which  might  have  been  expected  from  him.  With 
regard  to  all  fuch  benevolent  and  focial  affections,  ic 
is  agreeable  to  fee  the  fenfe  of  duty  employed  rather 
to  reftrain  than  to  enliven  them,  rather  to  hinder  us 
from  doing  too  much,  than  to  prompt  us  to  do  what 
we  ought.  It  gives  us  pieafure  to  fee  a  father  obliged 
to  check  his  own  fondnefs,  a  friend  obliged  to  fee 
bounds  to  his  natural  generohty,  a  perfon  who  has 
received  a  benefit,  obliged  to  reftrain  the  too  fan- 
guine  gratitude  of  his  own  temper. 

The  contrary  maxim  takes  place  with  regard  to  the 
malevolent  and  unfocial  paffions.  We  ought  to  re- 
ward from  the  gratitude  and  generofity  of  our  own 
hearts,  without  any  reluctance,  and  without  being 
obliged  to  reflect  how  great  the  propriety  of  reward- 
ing ;   but  we  ought  always  to  punifii  with  reluctance, 

Q  and 


226  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

and  more  from  a  fenfe  of  the  propriety  of  punifhing 
than  from  any  favage  difpofition  to  revenge.  No- 
thing is  more  graceful  than  the  behaviour  of  the 
man  who  appears  to  refent  the  greatelt  injuries,  more 
from  a  fenfe  that  they  deferve,  and  are  the  proper 
objects  of  refentment,  than  from  feeling  himfelf  the 
furies  of  that  difagreeable  paffion  >  who,  like  a  judge, 
confiders  only  the  general  rule,  which  determines 
what  vengeance  is  due  for  each  particular  offence  j 
who,  in  executing  that  rule,  feels  lefs  for  what  him- 
felf has  fuffered,  than  what  the  offender  is  about  to 
fuffer  •,  who,  though  in  wrath  remembers  mercy,  and 
is  difpofed  to  interpret  the  rule  in  the  molt  gentle  and 
favourable  manner,  and  to  allow  all  the  alleviations 
which  the  moft  candid  humanity  could,  confidently 
with  good  fenfe,  admit  of. 

As  the  felfifh  paflions,  according  to  what  has  for- 
merly been  obferved,  hold  in  other  refpects  a  fort  of 
middle  place,  between  the  focial  and  unfocial  affecti-' 
ons,  fo  do  they  likewife  in  this.  The  purfuit  of  the 
objects  of  private  intereft,  in  all  common,  little,  and 
ordinary  cafes,  ought  to  flow  rather  from  a  regard 
to  the  general  rules  which  prefcribe  fuch  conduct, 
than  from  any  pafiion  for  the  objects  themfelves ; 
but  upon  more  important  and  extraordinary  occafi- 
ons,  we  fhould  be  awkward,  infipid,  and  ungrace- 
ful, if  the  objects  themfelves  did  not  appear  to  ani- 
mate us  with  a  confiderable  degree  of  paflion.  To 
be  anxious,  or  to  be  laying  a  plot  either  to  gain  or 
to  fave  a  fingle  fhilling,  would  degrade  the  moft  vul- 
gar tradefman  in  the  opinion  of  all  his  neighbours. 
Let  his  circumftances  be  ever  fo  mean,  no  attention 
to  any  fuch  fmall  matters,  for  the  fake  of  the  things 
themfelves,  mull  appear  in  his  conduct.     His  fitu- 

ation 


Ghap.  4.  f/D'uTV,  227 

ation  may  require  the  moft  fevere  ceconomy,  and  the 
mod  exact  affiduity  :  but  each  particular  exertion  of 
that  ceconomy  and  affiduity  muft  proceed  not  To 
much  from  a  regard  for  that  particular  faving  or 
gain,  as  for  the  general  rule  which  to  him  prefcribes? 
with  the  utmoft  rigour,  fuch  a  teriour  of  conduct. 
His  parfimony  to-day  muft  not  arife  from  a  defire  of 
the  particular  three-pence  which  he  will  fave  by  it, 
nor  his  attendance  in  his  fhop  from  a  paffion  for  the 
particular  ten-pence  which  he  will  acquire  by  it : 
both  the  one  and  the  other  ought  to  proceed  foleiy 
from  a  regard  to  the  general  rule,  which  prefcribes, 
with  the  moft  unrelenting  feverity,  this  plan  of  con- 
duct to  all  perfons  in  his  way  of  life,  In  this  con- 
fifts  the  difference  between  the  character  of  a  mifer, 
and  that  of  a  perfon  of  exact  ceconomy  and  affidui- 
ty. The  one  is  anxious  about  fmall  matters  for 
their  own  fake  j  the  other  attends  to  them  only  in 
confequence  of  the  fcheme  of  life  which  he  has 
laid  down  to  himfelf. 

It  is  quite  otherwife  with  regard  to  the  more  ex- 
traordinary and  important  objects  of  felf-intereft. 
A  perfon  appears  mean-fpirited,  who  does  not  pur- 
fue  thefe  with  fome  degree  of  earnefthefs  for  their 
Own  fake.  We  mould  defpife  a  prince  who  was  not 
anxious  about  conquering  or  defending  a  province, 
We  mould  have  little  refpect  for  a  private  gentleman 
who  did  not  exert  himfelf  to  gain  an  eitate,  or  even 
a  cohfiderable  office,  when  lie  could  acquire  them 
without  either  meannefs  or  injuftice.  A  member  of 
parliament  who  fhews  no  keenneis  about  his  own 
election,  is  abandoned  by  his  friends,  as  altogether 
unworthy  of  their  attachment,  Even  a  tradefman  is 
Q^z  thought 


228  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

thought  a  poor-fpirited    fellow   among   his   neigh- 
bours, who  does  not  beftir  himfelf  to  get  what  they 
call   an  extraordinary  job,   or  fome  uncommon  ad- 
vantage.    This  fpirit   and   keennefs   conftitutes  the 
difference   between  the  man  of   enterprife   and  the 
man   of   dull  regularity.      Thofe  great  objects  of 
felf-intereft,  of  which  the  lofs  or  acquifition  quite 
changes  the  rank  of  the  perfon,  are  the  objects  of 
the    pailion    properly   called  ambition  ;     a   paflion, 
which  when  it  keeps  within  the  bounds  of  prudence 
and  juftice,  is  always  admired  in  the  world,  and  has 
even    fometimes  a  certain  irregular  greatnefs,  which 
dazzles  the  imagination,  when  it  paffes  the  limits  of 
both  thefe  virtues,  and  is  not  only  unjuft  but  extra- 
vagant.    Hence  the  general  admiration  for  Heroes 
and  Conquerors,  and  even  for  Statefmen,  whofe  pro- 
jects have  been  very   daring  and  extenfive,  though 
altogether  devoid  of  juftice-,   fuch   as  thofe  of  the 
Cardinals  of  Richlieu  and  of  Retz.     The  objects  of 
avarice  and   ambition   differ  only  in  their  greatnefs. 
A  mifer  is  as  furious  about  a  halfpenny,   as  a  man 
of  ambition  about  the  conqueft  of  a  kingdom. 

II.  Secondly,  I  fay,  it  will  depend  partly  upon 
the  precifion  and  exactnefs,  or  the  loofenefs  and  in- 
accuracy of  the  general  rules  themfelves,  how  far 
our  conduct  ought  to  proceed  entirely  from  a  re- 
gard to  them. 

The  general  rules  of  almoft  all  the  virtues,  the 
general  rules  which  determine  what  are  the  offices  of 
prudence,  of  charity,  of  generofity,  of  gratitude, 
of  friendfhip,  are  in  many  refpects  loofe  and  inaccu- 
rate, admit  of  many^exceptions,  and  require  {o  many 
modifications,  that  it  is  fcarce  pollible  to  regulate  our 

conduct 


Chap.  4.  of  D  u  t  y.  229 

conduct  entirely  by  a  regard  to  them.  The  common 
proverbial  maxims  of  prudence,  being  founded  in 
univerfal  experience,  are  perhaps  the  belt  general 
rules  which  can  be  given  about  it.  To  affecl,  howe- 
ver, a  very  ftridt  and  literal  adherence  to  them  would 
evidently  be  the  mod  abfurd  and  ridiculous  pedan- 
try. '  Of  all  the  virtues  I  have  juft  now  mentioned, 
gratitude  is  that,  perhaps,  of  which  the  rules  are  the 
moft  precife,  and  admit  of  the  feweft  exceptions. 
That  as  foon  as  we  can  we  mould  make  a  return  of 
equal,  and  if  poffible  of  fuperior  value  to  the  fer- 
vices  we  have  received,  would  feem  to  be  a  pretty 
plain  rule,  and  one  which  admitted  of  fcarce  any  ex- 
ceptions. Upon  the  moft  fuperficial  examination, 
however,  this  rule  will  appear  to  be  in  the  highefl 
degree  loofe  and  inaccurate,  and  to  admit  of  ten 
thoufand  exceptions.  If  your  benefactor  attended 
you  in  your  ficknefs,  ought  you  to  attend  him  in 
his  ?  or  can  you  fulfil  the  obligation  of  gratitude, 
by  making  a  return  of  a  different  kind  ?  If  you 
ought  to  attend  him,  how  long  ought  you  to  attend 
him  ?  The  fame  time  which  he  attended  you,  or 
longer,  and  how  much  longer  ?  If  your  friend  lent 
you  money  in  your  diftrefs,  ought  you  to  lend  him 
money  in  his  ?  How  much  ought  you  to  lend  him  ? 
When  ought  you  to  lend  him  ?  Now,  or  to-morrow, 
or  next  month  ?  And  for  how  long  a  time  ?  It  is 
evident,  that  no  general  rule  can  be  laid  down,  by 
which  a  precife  anfwer  can,  in  all  cafes,  be  given  to 
any  of  thefe  queftions.  The  difference  between  his 
character  and  yours,  between  his  circumftances  and 
yours,  may  be  fuch,  that  you  may  be  perfectly 
grateful,  and  juftly  refufe  to  lend  him  a  halfpenny  : 
and,  on  the  contrary,  you  may  be  willing  to  lend, 
or  even  to  give  him  ten  times  thefum  which  he  lent 

CL  3  y°u> 


>  3°  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e  Part  III. 

you,  and  yet  juftly  be  accufed  of  the  blacked  ingra- 
titude, and  of  not  having  fulfilled  the  hundredth 
part  of  the  obligation  you  lie  under.  As  the  duties 
of  gratitude,  however*  are  perhaps  the  mod  facred 
of  all  thofe  which  the  beneficent  virtues  prefcribe  to 
us,  fo  the  general  rules  which  determine  them  are, 
as  I  faid  before,  the  moft  accurate.  Thofe  which 
afcertain  the  actions  required  by  friendlhip,  humani- 
ty, hofpitality,  generality,  are  flill  more  vague  and 
indeterminate. 

There  is,  however,  one  virtue  of  which  the  gene- 
ral rules  determine  with  the  greater!  exactnefs  every 
external  action  which  it  requires.  This  virtue  is 
juftice.  The  rules  of  juftice  are  accurate  in  the 
higher!  degree,  and  admit  of  no  exceptions  or  modi- 
fications, but  fuch  as  may  be  afcertained  as  accurate - 
]y  as  the  rules  themfelves,  and  which  generally,  in- 
deed, flow  from  the  very  fame  principles  with  them. 
If  I  owe  a  man  ten  pounds,  juftice  requires  that  I 
fhould  precifely  pay  him  ten  pounds,  either  at  the 
time  agreed  upon,  or  when  he  demands  it.  What  I 
ought  to  perform,  how  much  I  ought  to  perform, 
when  and  where  I  ought  to  perform  it,  the  whole 
nature  and  cjrcumftances  of  the  action  prefcribed, 
are  all  of  them  precifely  fixt  and  determined.  Though 
it  may  be  awkward  and  pedantic,  therefore,  to  af- 
fect: too  flrict  an  adherence  to  the  common  rules  of 
prudence  or  generofity,  there  is  no  pedantry  in  flick- 
ing faft  by  the  rules  of  juftice.  On  the  contrary, 
the  moft  facred  regard  is  due  to  them  ;  and  the  acti- 
ons which  this  virtue  requires  are  never  fo  properly 
performed,  as  when  the  chief  motive  for  perform- 
ing them  is  a  reverential  and  religious  regard  to  thofe 
general  rules  which  require  them.     In  the  practice  of 

the 


Chap.  4.  of  D  u  t  y.  231 

the  other  virtues,  our  conduct  fhouid  rather  be 
directed  by  a  certain  idea  of  propriety,  by  a  certain 
tafte  for  a  particular  tenour  of  conduct,  than  by  any 
regard  to  a  precife  maxim  or  rule ;  and  we  fhouid 
confider  the  end  and  foundation  of  the  rule,  more 
than  the  rule  itfelf.  But  it  is  otherwife  with  regard 
to  juftice:  the  man  who  in  that  refines  the  leaft, 
and  adheres  with  the  mod  obftinate  ftedfaftnefs,  to 
the  general  rules  themfelves,  is  the  mod  commenda- 
ble, and  the  moft  to  be  depended  upon.  Though 
the  end  of  the  rules  of  juftice  be,  to  hinder  us 
from  hurting  our  neighbour,  it  may  frequently  be  a 
crime  to  violate  them,  though  we  could  pretends 
with  fome  pretext  of  reafon,  that  this  particular  vio- 
lation could  do  no  hurt.  A  man  often  becomes  a 
villain  the  moment  he  begins  even  in  his  own  heart, 
to  chicane  in  this  -manner.  The  moment  he  thinks 
of  departing  from  the  moft  (launch  and  pofitive  ad- 
herence to  what  thofe  inviolable  precepts  prefcribe 
to  him,  he  is  no  longer  to  be  trufted,  and  no  man 
can  fay  what  degree  of  guilt  he  may  not  arrive  at. 
The  thief  imagines  he  does  no  evil,  when  he  fteals 
from  the  rich,  what  he  fuppofes  they  may  eafily 
want,  and  what  poffibly  they  may  never  even 
know  has  been  ftolen  from  them.  The  adulterer 
imagines  he  does  no  evil,  when  he  corrupts  the 
wife  of  his  friend,  provided  he  covers  his  intrigue 
from  the  fufpicion  of  the  hufband,  and  does  not 
difturb  the  peace  of  the  family.  When  once  we 
begin  to  give  way  to  fuch  refinements,  there  is 
no  enormity  fo  grofs  of  which  we  may  not  be  capa- 
ble. 

The  rules  of  juftice  may  be  compared  to  the  rules 

of  grammar  -,  the  rules  of  the  other  virtues  to  the 

Q^4  rules 


232  0/  /^  Sense  Part  HI. 

rules  which  criticks  lay  down  for  the  attainment  of 
what  is  fublirne  and  elegant  in  compofition.  The 
one,  are  precife,  accurate,  and  indifpen fable.  The 
other,  are  loofe,  vague,  and  indeterminate,  and 
prefent  us  rather  with  a  general  idea  of  the  perfecti- 
on we  ought  to  aim  at,  than  afford  us  any  certain 
and  infallible  directions  for  acquiring  it.  A  man 
may  learn  to  write  grammatically  by  rule,  with  the 
moil  abfolute  infallibility  ;  and  fo,  perhaps,  he  may 
be  taught  to  act  juftly.  But  there  are  no  rules  whofe 
obferyance  will  infallibly  lead  us  to  the  attainment 
of  elegance  or  fublimity  in  writing,  though  there  are 
fome  which  may  help  us,  in  fome  meafure,  to  cor- 
rect and  aicertam  the  vague  ideas  which  we  might 
otherwife  have  entertained  of  thofe  perfections :  and 
there  are  no  rules  by  the  knowledge  of  which  we  can 
infallibly  be  taught  to  act  upon  all  occafions  with 
prudence,  with  juft  magnanimity,  or  proper  bene- 
ficence. Though  there  are  fome  which  may  enable 
US  to  correct  and  afcertain  in  feveral  refpects,  the 
imperfect  id<jas  which  we  might  otherwife  have  en- 
tertained of  thofe  virtues. 

It  may  fometimes  happen,  that  with  the  moft  fe- 
rious  and  earneft  defire  of  acting  fo  as  to  deferve  ap- 
probation, we  may  miftake  the  proper  rules  of  con- 
duct, and  thus  be  milled  by  that  very  principle 
which  ought  to  direct  us.  It  is  in  vain  to  expect, 
that  in  this  cafe  mankind  mould  entirely  approve  of 
our  behaviour,  They  cannot  enter  into  that  abfurd 
idea  of  duty  which  influenced  us,  nor  go  along  with 
any  of  the  actions  which  follow  from  it.  There  is 
fYiil,  however,  fomething  refpectable  in  the  charac- 
ter and  behaviour  ok  one  who  is  thus  betrayed  into 

vice, 


Chap.  4-  of  Duty.  232 

vice,  by  a  wrong  fenfe  of  duty,  or  by  what  is  called 
an  erroneous  confcience.  How  fatally  foever  he 
may  be  milled  by  it,  he  is  ftill,  with  the  generous 
and  humane,  more  the  object  of  commiieration  than 
of  hatred  or  refentmenr.  They  lament  the  weak- 
nefs  of  human  nature,  which  expofes  us  to  fuch  un- 
happy delufions,  even  while  we  are  mod  fincerely 
labouring  after  perfection,  and  endeavouring  to  act 
according  to  the  bed  principle  which  can  poflibly 
direct  us.  Falfe  notions  of  religion  are  almoft  the 
only  caufes  which  can  occafion  any  very  grofs  per- 
verfion  of  our  natural  fentiments  in  this  way  ;  and 
that  principle  which  gives  the  greater!  authority 
to  the  rules  of  duty,  is  alone  capable  of  diftorting 
our  ideas  of  them  in  any  considerable  degree.  In 
all  other  cafes  common  knCe  is  fufficient  to  direct 
us,  if  not  to  the  mod  exquifite  propriety  of  conduct, 
yet  to  fomething  which  is  not  very  far  from  it-,  and 
provided  we  are  in  earned  defirous  to  do  well,  our 
behaviour  will  always,  upon  the  whole,  be  praife- 
worthy.  That  to  obey  the  will  of  the  Deity,  is  the 
firft  rule  of  duty,  all  men  are  agreed.  But  con- 
cerning the  particular  commandments  which  that 
will  may  impofe  upon  us,  they  differ  widely  from 
one  another.  In  this,  therefore,  the  greater!  mu- 
tual forbearance  and    toleration  is  due  ;  and  though 

o 

the  defence  of  fociety  requires  that  crimes  mould  be 
punifhed,  from  whatever  motives  they  proceed,  yer 
a  good  man  will  always  puniili  them  with  reluctance, 
when  they  evidently  proceed  from  falfe  notions  of 
religious  duty.  He  will  never  feel  againft  thofe 
who  commit  them  that  indignation  which  he  feejs 
againft  other  criminals,  but  will  rather  regret,  and 
fometimes  even  admire  their  unfortunate  firmnefs 
and  magnanimity,   at  the  very  time  that  he  punifhes 

their 


234-  Of  the  Sense  Part  III. 

their  crime.  In  the  tragedy  of  Mahomet,  one  of  the 
fined  of  Mr.  Voltaire's,  it  is  well  reprefented,  what 
ought  to  be  our  fentiments  for  crimes  which  pro- 
ceed from  fuch  motives.  In  that  tragedy,  two 
young  people  of  different  fexes,  of  the  moft  inno- 
cent and  virtuous  difpofitions,  and  without  any 
other  weaknefs  except  what  endears  them  the  more 
to  us,  a  mutual  fondnefs  for  one  another,  are  infti- 
gated  by  the  ftrongeft  motives  of  a  falfe  religion,  to 
commit  a  horrid  murder,  that  fhocks  all  the  princi- 
ples of  human  nature :  a  venerable  old  man,  who 
had  expreffed  the  moft  tender  affection  for  them 
both,  for  whom,  notwithftanding  he  was  the  avowed 
enemy  of  their  religion,  they  had  both  conceived  the 
higheft  reverence  and  efteem,  and  who  was  in  reality 
their  father,  though  they  did  not  know  him  to  be 
fuch,  is  pointed  out  to  them  as  a  facrirlce  which  God 
had  exprefsly  required  at  their  hands,  and  they  are 
commanded  to  kill  him.  While  they  are  about 
executing  this  crime,  they  are  tortured  with  all  the 
agonies  which  can  arife  from  the  flruggle  between 
the  idea  of  the  indifpenfablenefs  of  religious  duty  on 
the  one  fide,  and  companion,  gratitude,  reverence 
for  the  age,  and  love  for  the  humanity  and  virtue  of 
the  perfon  whom  they  are  going  to  deftroy,  on  the 
other.  The  reprefentation  of  this  exhibits  one  of  the 
moft  interefting,  and  perhaps  the  moft  inftrudive 
fpeclacle  that  was  ever  introduced  upon  any  theatre. 
The  fenfe  of  duty,  however,  at  laft  prevails  over 
all  the  amiable  weakneffes  of  human  nature.  They 
execute  the  crime  impoled  upon  them  j  but  immedi- 
ately difcover  their  error,  and  the  fraud  which  had 
deceived  them,  and  are  diftracted  with  horror,  re- 
morfe,  and  refentment.  Such  as  are  our  fentiments 
for  the  unhappy  Seickand  Palmira,  fuch  ought  we 

to 


Chap.  4.  of  D  u  t  y.  235 

to  feel  for  every  perfon  who  is  in  this  manner  mifled 
by  religion,  when  we  are  fure  that  it  is  really  religion 
which  mideads  him,  and  not  the  pretence  of  it, 
which  is  made  a  cover  to  fome  of  the  worft  of  human 
paffions. 

As  a  perfon  may  acl:  wrong  by  following  a  wrong 
fenfe  of  duty,  fo  nature  may  fometimes  prevail,  and 
lead  him  to  acl:  right  in  oppofition  to  it.     We  cannot 
in  this  cafe  be  difpleafed  to  fee  that  motive  prevail, 
which  we  think.ought  to  prevail,  though  the  perfon 
himfelf  is  fo  weak  as   to  think  otherwife.     As  his 
conduct,   however,  is  the   erTecl   of  weaknefs,    not 
principle,   we   are  far  from  bellowing  upon  it  any 
thing  that  approaches  to  complete  approbation.     A 
bigotted  Roman  Catholick,  who,  during  the  maffa- 
cre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  had  been   fo  overcome  by 
companion,    as  to  lave  fome  unhappy  proteftants, 
whom  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  deftroy,   would  not 
feem  to  be  entitled  to  that  high  applaufe  which  we 
mould  have  bellowed  upon  him,  had  he  exerted  the 
fame    generofity    with    complete    felf-approbation. 
We  might  be  pleafed  with  the  humanity  of  his  tem- 
per,   but  we  mould  (till   regard  him  with  a  fort  of 
pity  which  is  altogether  inconfiitent  with   the  admi- 
ration that  is  'due  to  perfecl  virtue.     It  is  the  fame 
cafe  with  all  the  other  paffions.     We  do  not  dillike 
to  fee  them  exert  themfelves  properly,  even  when  a 
falfe  notion  of  duty  would  direcl  the  perfon  to  ref- 
train  them.     A  very  devout  Quaker,  who  upon  be- 
ino-  (truck  upon  one  cheek,   inftead  of  turning  up 
the  other,  mould  fo  far  forget  his  literal  interpreta- 
tion of  our  Saviour's  precept,  as  to    beitow  fome 
good  difcipline  upon  the  brute  that  infuhed  him 
P  would 


236  Of  the  S  e  n  s  e,    &c.  Part  III. 

would  not  be  difagreeable  to  us.  We  fhould  laugh 
and  be  diverted  with  his  fpirit,  and  rather  like  him 
the  better  for  it.  But  we  mould  by  no  means  regard 
him  with  that  refpect  and  efleem  which  would  feem 
due  to  one  who,  upon  a  like  occafion,  had  acted 
properly  from  a  juft  fenfe  of  what  was  proper  to  be 
done.  No  action  can  properly  be  called  virtuous, 
which  is  not  accompanied  with  the  fentiment  of  felf- 
approbation. 


<H-$» 


PART 


PART     IV. 

Of  the  Effect  of  Utility  upon  the 
fentiment  of  approbation. 

CONSISTING  OF  ONE  SECTION, 


CHAP.     I. 

Of  the  beauty  which  the  appearance  of  Utility  be- 
ftows  upon  all  the  productions  of  art ,  and  of  the 
extenjive  influence  of  this  fpecies  of  beauty. 


x 


HAT  utility  is  one  of  the  principal  fources 
of  beauty  has  been  obferved  by  every  body,  who 
has  confidered  with  any  attention  what  confti- 
tutes  the  nature  of  beauty.  The  conveniency  of  a 
houfe  gives  pleafure  to  the  fpeclator  as  well  as  its 
regularity,  and  he  is  as  much  hurt  when  he  obferves 
the  contrary  defect,  as  when  he  fees  the  correfpon- 
dent  windows  of  different  forms,  or  the  door  not 
placed  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  building.  That 
the  fitnefs  of  any  fyftem  or  machine  to  produce  the 
end  for  which  it  was  intended,  bellows  a  certain 
propriety  and  beauty  upon  the  whole,  and  renders 
the  very  thought  and  contemplation  of  it  agreeable, 
is  fo  very  obvious  that  nobody  has  overlooked  it. 

The 


23  8  ¥he  Effect  Part  IV. 

The  caufe  too,  why  utility  pleafes,  has  of  late 
been  afiigned  by  an  ingenious  and  agreeable  philofo- 
pher,  who  joins  the  greateft  depth  of  thought  to 
the  greateft  elegance  of  exprefiion,  and  poiTeifes  the 
fingular  and  happy  talent  of  treating  the  abftrufeft 
fubjects  not  only  with  the  mod  perfect  perfpicuity, 
but  with  the  mod  lively  eloquence.  The  utility  of 
any  object,  according  to  him,  pleafes  the  mafter  by 
perpetually  fuggefting  to  him  the  pleafure  or  conve- 
niency  which  it  is  fitted  to  promote.  Every  time  he 
looks  at  it,  he  is  put  in  mind  of  this  pleafure;  and 
the  object  in  this  manner  becomes  a  fource  of  per- 
petual fatisfaction  and  enjoyment.  The  fpectator 
enters  by  fympathy  into  the  fentiments  of  the  mafter, 
and  neceflarily  views  the  object  under  the  fame  agree- 
able afpect.  When  we  vifu  the  palaces  of  the  great, 
we  cannot  help  conceiving  the  fatisfaction  we  fhould 
enjoy  if  we  ourfelves  were  the  matters,  and  were  pof- 
fefled  of  fo  much  artful  and  ingenioufty  contrived 
accommodation.  A  fimilar  account  is  given  why 
the  appearance  of  inconveniency  ihould  render  any 
object  difagreeable  both  to  the  owner  and  to  the 
fpectator. 

But  that  this  fitnefs,  this  happy  contrivance  of 
any  production  of  art,  mould  often  be  more  valued, 
than  the  very  end  for  which  it  was  intended  ;  and 
that  the  exact  adjuftment  of  the  means  for  attaining 
any  conveniency  or  pleafure,  fhould  frequently  be 
more  regarded,  'than  that  very  conveniency  or  plea- 
fure, in  the  attainment  of  which  their  whole  merit 
would  feem  to  confift,  has  not,  fo  far  as  1  know, 
been  yet  taken  notice  of  by  any  body.  That  this 
however  is  very  frequently  the  cafe,  may  be  obferved 

in 


Chap.  I.  of  U  T  I  L  I  T  y.  229 

in  a  thoufand  inftances,   both  in  the  mod  frivolous 
and  in  the  moft  important  concerns  of  human  life. 

When  a  perfon  comes  into  his  chamber,  and  finds 
the  chairs  all  (landing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  he 
is  angry  with  his  fervant,  and  rather  than  fee  them 
continue  in  that  diforder,  perhaps  takes  the  trouble 
himfelf  to  let  them  all  in  their  places  with  their  backs 
to  the  wall.  The  whole  propriety  of  this  new  fitu- 
ation  arifes  from  its  fuperior  conveniency  in  leaving 
the  floor  free  and  difengaged.  To  attain  this  con- 
veniency he  voluntarily  puts  himfelf  to  more  trouble 
than  all  he  could  have  fuffered  from  the  want  of  it ; 
fince  nothing  was  more  eafy,  than  to  have  fet  him- 
felf down  upon  one  of  them,  which  is  probably 
what  he  does  when  his  labour  is  over.  What  he 
wanted  therefore,  it  feems,  was  not  fo  much  this 
conveniency,  as  that  arrangement  of  things  which 
promotes  it.  Yet  it  is  this  conveniency  which  ulti- 
mately recommends  that  arrangement,  and  bellows 
upon  it  the  whole  of  its  propriety  and  beauty. 

A  watch,  in  the  fame  manner,  that  falls  behind 
above  two  minutes  in  a  day,  is  defpifed  by  one  curi- 
ous in  watches.  He  fells  it  perhaps  for  a  couple  of 
guineas,  and  purchafes  another  at  fifty,  which  will 
not  lofe  above  a  minute  in  a  fortnight.  The  fole 
ufe  of  watches  however,  is  to  tell  us  what  o'clock 
it  is,  and  to  hinder  us  from  breaking  any  engage- 
ment, or  fuffering  any  other  incpnveniency  by  our 
ignorance  in  that  particular  point.  But  the  perfon 
fo  nice  with  regard  to  this  machine,  will  not  always 
be  found  either  more  fcrupuloufiy  punctual  than 
other  men,  or  more  anxioufly  concerned  upon  any 
other  account,  to  know  precifely  what  time  of  day 

it 


240  The  Effect  Fart  IV. 

it  is.  What  interefts  him  is  not  fo  much  the  attain- 
ment of  this  piece  of  knowledge,  as  the  perfection 
of  the  machine  which  ferves  to  attain  it. 

How  many  people  ruin  themfelves  by  laying  out 
money  on  trinkets  of  frivolous  utility  ?  What 
pleafes  thefe  lovers  of  toys  is  not  fo  much  the  utility, 
as  the  aptnefs  of  the  machines  which  are  fitted  to 
promote  it.  All  their  pockets  are  Huffed  with  little 
conveniencies.  They  contrive  new  pockets,  un- 
known in  the  clothes  of  other  people,  in  order  to 
carry  a  greater  number.  They  walk  about  loaded 
with  a  multitude  of  baubles,  in  weight  and  fome- 
times  in  value  not  inferior  to  an  ordinary  Jew's-box, 
fome  of  which  may  fometimes  be  of  fome  little 
ufe,  but  all  of  which  might  at  all  times  be  very  well 
fpared,  and  of  which  the  whole  utility  is  certainly  not 
worth  the  fatigue  of  bearing  the  burden. 

Nor  is  it  only  with  regard  to  fuch  frivolous  ob- 
jects that  our  conduct  is  influenced  by  this  principle; 
it  is  often  the  fecret  motive  of  the  .mod  ferions 
and  important  purfuits  of  both  private  and  public 
life. 

The  poor  man's  fon,  whom  Heaven  in  its  anger 
has  vifited  with  ambition,  when  he  begins  to  look 
around  him  admires  the  condition  of  the  rich.  He 
finds  the  cottage  of  his  father  too  fmall  for  his8  ac- 
commodation,- and  fancies  he  mould  be  lodged  more 
at  his  eafe  in  a  palace.  He  is  difpleafed  with  being 
obliged  to  walk  a- foot,  or  to  endure  the  fatigue  of 
riding  on  horfeback.  He  fees  his  fuperiors  carried 
about  in  machines, ^and  imagines  that  in  one  of 
thefe  he  could  travel  with  lefs  inconveniency.     He 

feels 


Chap.  I.  c/Utilit  y.  241 

feels  himielf  naturally  indolent,  and  willing  to  ferve 
himfelf  with  his  own  hands  as  little  as  pofiible ;   and 
judges,  that  a  numerous   retinue  of  fervants  would 
fave  him  from  a  great  deal  of  trouble.     He   thinks 
if  he   had   attained    all   thefe,    he  would  fit  dill  con- 
tentedly,   and    be  quiet,     enjoying   himielf  in    the 
thought  of  the  happinefs  and  tranquillity  of  his  fitn- 
ation.     He  is  enchanted  with  the  diftant  idea  of  this 
felicity.     It  appears  in  his  fancy  like  the  life  of  fome 
fuperior  rank  of  beings,    and  in  order  to  arrive  at  it, 
he  devotes  himielf  for  ever  to  the  purfuit  of  wealth 
and  ereatnels.     To  obtain   the  conveniences  which 
thefe  afford,  he  fubrnits  in  the  firft  year,  nay  in  the 
firfl   month  of  his   application,  to   more  fatigue  of 
body  and  more  uneafmefs    of  mind  than   he  could 
have  fuffered  through  the  whole  of  his  life  from  the 
want  of  them.     He  fludies  to  diftinguifh  himfelf  in 
fome    laborious  profeffion.      With  the    mofl   unre- 
lenting indulfry  he  labours  night  and  day  to  acquire 
ralents  fuperior  to  all  his   competitors.     He  endea- 
vours next  to  bring  thole  talents  into  public  view, 
and  with  equal  affiduity  folicits  every  opportunity  of 
employment.     For  this  purpofe  he  makes  his  court 
to  all  mankind  •,  he  ferves  thofe  whom  he  hates,  and 
is  obfequious  to  thofe  whom  he  defpifes.     Through 
the  whole  of  his  life  he  purfues  the  idea  of  a  certain 
artificial  and  elegant  repofe  which  he  may  never  ar- 
rive at,  for  which   he   facrifices  a    real  tranquillity 
that  is  at  all  times  in   his  power,  and  which,  if  in 
the  extremity  of  old  age  he  fhould  at  lad  attain  to 
it,  he  will  find  to  be  in  no  refpecl  preferable  to  that 
humble  fecurity  and  contentment  which  he  had  aban- 
doned for  it.     It  is  then,   in  the  laft  dregs  of  life, 
his    body  wafted   with  toil  and  difeafes,   his  mind 
galled    and    ruffled    by    the  memory   of  a  thou- 

R  fand 


242  The  Effect  Part  IV. 

fand  injuries  and  difappointments  which  he  imagines 
he  has  met  with  from  the  injuftice  of  his   enemies, 
or  from  the  perfidy   and  ingratitude  of  his  friends, 
that  he  begins  at  laft  to  find   that  wealth  and  great- 
neis  are  mere  trinkets   of  frivolous  utility,   no  more 
adapted  for   procuring  eafe  of  body  or  tranquillity 
of  mind  than  the  tweezer-cafes  of  the  lover  of  toys  ; 
and  like  them  too,  more  troublefome  to  the  perfon 
who  carries  them  about  with  him   than   all  the  ad- 
vantages   they    can    afford    him    are    commodious. 
There  is  no  other  real  difference  between  them,   ex- 
cept that  the  conveniencies  of  the  one  are  fomewhat 
more  obfervable  than  thofe  of  the  other.     The  pa- 
laces,  the  gardens,   the  equipage,    the  retinue  of  the 
great  are  objects  of  which  the  obvious  conveniency 
ftrikes  every  body.     They  do  not  require  that  their 
matters  fhould  point  out  to  us  wherein  confifts  their 
utility.     Of  our  own  accord  we  readily  enter  into  it, 
and  by  fympathy  enjoy  and  thereby  applaud  the  fa- 
tisfaction  which  they  are  fitted  to   afford  him.     But 
the  curiofity  of  a  tooth-pick,  of  an  ear-picker,   of  a 
machine  for  cutting  the  nails,  or  of  any  other  trinket 
of  the  fame  kind,  is  not  fo  obvious.     Their  conveni- 
ence may  perhaps  be  equally  great,  but  it  is  not  fo 
ftriking,   and  we  do  not  fo  readily  enter  into  the  fa- 
tisfaclion  of  the  man  who  poffeffes  thrm.     They  are 
therefore  lefs  reaibnable  fubjecls  of  vanity  than  the 
magnificence  of  wealth  and  greatnels  •>  and  in  this 
confifts  the  fole  advantage  of  thefe  laft.     They  more 
effectually  gratify  that  love  of  diftin&ion  fo  natural 
to  man.     To  one  who  was  to  live  alone  in  a  defolate 
illand  it  might  be  a  matter  of  doubt,  perhaps,  whe- 
ther a  palace,  or  a  collection  of  fuch  fmall  conveni- 
encies as  are  commonly  contained  in  a  tweezer-cafe, 
would  contribute  mod  to  his  happinefs  and  enjoy- 
ment.- 


Chap.  I.  ^/Utility.  243 

ment.  If  he  is  to  live  in  fociety,  indeed,  there  can 
be  no  companion,  becatife  in  this,  as  in  all  other 
cafes,  we  conftantly  pay  more  regard  to  the  fenti- 
ments  of  the  fpectator,  than  to  thole  of  the  perfon 
principally  concerned,  and  confider  rather  how  his 
fituation  will  appear  to  other  people,  than  how  it 
will  appear  to  himfelf.  If  we  examine,  however, 
why  the  fpeclator  diftinguifhes  with  fuch  admiration 
the  condition  of  the  rich  and  the  great,  we  fhall  find 
that  it  is  not  fo  much  upon  account  of  the  fuperior 
eafe  or  pleafure  which  they  are  fuppoiedto  enjoy,  as 
of  the  numberlefs  artificial  and  elegant  contrivances 
for  promoting  this  eafe  or  pleafure.  He  does  not 
even  imagine  that  they  are  really  happier  than  other 
people :  but  he  imagines  that  they  poffefs  more 
means  of  happinefs.  And  ic  is  the  ingenious  and 
artful  adjuftment  of  thole  means  to  the  end  for 
which  they  were  intended,  that  is  the  principal 
fource  of  his  admiration.  But  in  the  languor  of 
difeafe,  and  the  wearinefs  of  old  age,  the  pleafures 
jf  the  vain  and  empty  diftinctions  of  greatnefs  dii- 
appear.  To  one,  in  this  fituation,  they  are  no 
longer  capable  of  recommending  thole  toiiibme  pur- 
fuits  in  which  they  had  formerly  engaged  him.  In 
his  heart  he  curfes  ambition,  and  vainly  regrets  the 
eafe  and  the  indolence  of  youth,  pleafures  which  are 
fled  for  ever,  and  which  he  has  foolifhly  facrificed  for 
what,  when  he  has  got  it,  can  afford  him  no  real 
fatisfaction.  In  this  miferable  afpecl  does  greatnefs 
appear  to  every  man  when  reduced  either  by  fpleen 
or  difeafe  to  obferve  with  attention  his  own  fituation, 
and  to  confider  what  it  is  that  is  really  wanting  to 
his  happinefs.  Power  and  riches  appear  then  to  be 
what  they  are,  enormous  and  operofe  machines 
contrived  to  produce  a  few  trifling  conveniencies  to 
R  2  the 


244  The  E  f  f  ect  Part  IV. 

the  body,  confiding  of  fprings  the  mofl  nice  and  de- 
licate, which  mud  be  kept  in  order  with  the  mod 
anxious  attention,  and  which  in  fpite  of  all  our  care 
are  ready  every  moment  to  burft  into  pieces,  and  to 
crufh  in  their  ruins  their  unfortunate  poffeffor.  They 
are  immenie  fabrics,  which  it  requires  the  labour  of  a 
life  to  raife,  which  threaten  every  moment  to  over- 
whelm the  perfon  that  dwells  in  them,  and  which 
while  they  ftand,  though  they  may  fave  him  from  fome 
fmaller  inconveniencies,  can  protect  him  from  none 
of  the  feverer  inclemencies  of  the  feafon.  They  keep 
off  the  fummer  fhower,  not  the  winter  dorm,  but 
leave  him  always  as  much,  and  fometimes  more  ex- 
pofed  than  before,  to  anxiety,  to  fear,  and  to  for- 
row ;  to  difeafes,  to  danger,  and  to  death. 

But  though  this  fplenetic  philofophy,  which  in 
time  of  fickneis  or  low  fpirits  is  familiar  to  every 
man,  thus  entirely  depreciates  thofe  great  objects  of 
human  defire,  when  in  better  health  and  in  better 
humour,  we  never  fail  to  regard  them  under  a 
more  agreeable  afpect  Our  imagination,  which 
in  pain  and  forrow  feems  to  be  ,  confined  and 
cooped  up  within  our  own  perfons,  in  times  of 
eafe  and  profperity  expands  itfelf  to  every  thing 
around  us.  We  are  then  charmed  with  the  beauty 
of  thar  accommodation  which  reigns  in  the  palaces 
and  oeconomy  of  the  great ;  and  admire  how  every 
thing  is  adapted  to  promote  their  eafe,  to  prevent 
their  wants,'  to  gratify  their  wifhes,  and  to  amufe 
and  entertain  their  mod  frivolous  defires.  If  we 
confider  the  real  fatisfaction  which  all  thefe  things 
are  capable  of  affording,  by  itfelf  and  feparated 
from  the  beauty  off  hat  arrangement  which  is  fitted 
to  promote  it,  it  will  always  appear  in  the  higheft 

degree 


Chap.  I.  0/  U  t  il  i  t  y  245 

degree  contemptible  and  trifling.  But  we  rarely 
view  it  in  this  abftract  and  philofophical  light.  We 
naturally  confound  it  in  our  imagination  with  the 
order,  the  regular  and  harmonious  movement  of  the 
fyftem,  the  machine  or  ceconomy  by  means  of  which 
it  is  produced.  The  pleafures  of  wealth  and  great- 
nefs,  when  confidered  in  this  complex  view,  (hike 
the  imagination  as  fomething  grand  and  beautiful  and 
noble,  of  which  the  attainment  is  well  worth  all  the 
toil  and  and  anxiety  which  we  are  fo  apt  to  beftow 
upon  ir. 

And  it  is  well  that  nature  impofes  upon  us  in  this 
manner.  It  is  this  deception  which  roufes  and  keeps 
in  continual  motion  the  induftry  of  mankind.  It  is 
this  which  fir  ft  prompted  them  to  cultivate  the 
ground,  to  build  houfes,  to  found  cities  and  com- 
mon-wealths, and  to  invent  and  improve  all  the 
fciences  and  arts,  which  ennoble  and  embellifh  hu- 
man life ;  which  have  entirely  changed  the  whole 
face  of  the  globe,  have  turned  the  rude  forefts  of 
nature  into  agreeable  and  fertile  plains,  and  made  the 
tracklefs  and  barren  ocean  a  new  fund  of  fubfiftence, 
and  the  great  high  road  of  communication  to  the 
different  nations  of  the  earth.  The  earth  by  thefe 
labours  of  mankind  has  been  obliged  to  redouble  her 
natural  fertility,  and  to  maintain  a  greater  multitude 
of  inhabitants.  It  is  to  no  purpofe,  that  the  proud 
and  unfeeling  landlord  views  his  extenfive  fields, 
and  without  a  thought  for  the  wants  of  his  brethren, 
in  imagination  confumes  himfelf  the  whole  harveft 
that  grows  upon  them.  The  homely  and  vulgar 
proverb,  that  the  eye  is  larger  than  the  belly,  never 
was  more  fully  verified  than  with  regard  to  him. 
The  capacity  of  his  ftomach  bears  no  proportion  to 

R  3  the 


246  ^he  Effect  Part  IV. 

the  immenfity  of  his  defires,  and  will  receive  no 
more  than  that  of  the  meaneft  peafant.  The  reft  he 
is  obliged  to  diftribute  among  thofe,  who  prepare, 
in  the  niceft  manner,  that  little  which  he  himfelf 
makes  ufe  of,  among  thofe  who  fit  up  the  palace  in 
which  this  little  is  to  be  confumed,  among  thofe 
who  provide  and  keep  in  order  all  the  different  bau- 
bles and  trinkets,  which  are  employed  in  the  cecono- 
my  of  greatnefs;  all  of  whom  thus  derive  from  his 
luxury  and  caprice,  that  fhare  of  the  neceffaries  of 
life,  which  they  would  in  vain  have  expected  from 
his  humanity  or  his  juftice.  The  produce  of  the  foil 
maintains  at  all  times  nearly  that  number  of  inhabi- 
tants, which  it  is  capable  of  maintaining.  The  rich 
only  feted  from  the  heap  what  is  moft  precious  and 
agreeable.  They  confume  little  more  than  the  poor, 
and  in  fpite  of  their  natural  felfifhnefs  and  rapacity, 
though  they  mean  only  their  own  conveniency, 
though  the  fole  end  which  they  propoie  from  the 
labours  of  all  the  thoufands  whom  they  employ,  be 
the  g.  atification  of  their  own  vain  and  infatiable  de- 
fires,  they  divide  with  the  poor  the  produce  of  all 
their  improvements.  They  are  led  by  an  invifible 
hand  to  make  nearly  the  fame  diftribution  of  the  ne- 
ceffaries of  life,  which  would  have  been  made, 
had  the  earth  been  divided  into  equal  portions  among 
all  its  inhabitants,  and  thus  without  intending  it, 
without  knowing  it,  advance  the  interefl  of  the 
fociety,  and  afford  means  to  the  multiplication  of 
the  fpecies.  When  Providence  divided  the  earth 
among  a  few  lordly  matters,  it  neither  forgot  nor 
abandoned  thofe  who  feemed  to  have  been  left 
out  in  the  partition.  Thefe  lafl  too  enjoy  their 
fhare  of  all  that  it  produces.     In  what  conflitutes 

the 


Chap.  I.  of  U*t  i  L  i  t  y.  247 

the  real  happinefs  of  human  Jife,  they  are  in  no  re- 
fpect  inferior  to  thofe  who  would  feem  fo  much  above 
them.  In  eafe  of  body  and  peace  of  mind,  all  the 
different  ranks  of  life  are  neariy  upon  a  level,  and 
the  beggar,  who  funs  himfelf  by  the  fide  of  the  high- 
way,. pofTeffcs  that  iecurity  which  kings  are  fighting 
for.     / 

The  fame  principle,  the  fame  love  of  fyltem,   the 
fame  regard  to  the  beauty  of  order,  of  art  and  con- 
trivance, frequently  ferves  to  recommend  thofe  inft i- 
tutions,  which  tend  to  promote  the  public  welfare. 
When  a  patriot  exerts  himfelf  for  the  improvement 
of  any  part  of  the  public  police,  his  conduct  does 
not  always  arife  from  pure  fympathy  with  the  hap- 
pinefs of  thofe  who  are  to  reap  the  benefit  of  it.    It 
is  not  commonly  from  a  fellow-feeling  with  carriers 
and  waggoners  that  a  public-fpirited  man  encourages 
the  mending  of  high  roads.     When  the  legiflature 
eftablifhes  premiums  and  other  encouragements  to 
advance  the  linen  or  woollen  manufactures,   its  con- 
duct feldom  proceeds   from  pure  fympathy  with  the 
wearer  of  cheap  or  fine  cloth,  and  much  lefs  from 
that  with  the  manufacturer,  or  merchant.     The  per- 
fection of  police,  the  extenfion  of  trade  and  manu- 
factures, are   noble  and  magnificent  objects.     The 
contemplation  of  them  pleafes  us,  and  we  are  inter- 
efted  in  whatever  can  tend  to  advance  them.     They 
make  part  of  the  great  fyftem  of  government,  and 
the  wheels  of  the  political  machine  feem  to  move 
with   more  harmony  and  eafe  by  means  of  them. 
We  take  pleafure  in  beholding  the  perfection  of  fb 
beautiful  and  grand  a  fyftem,  and  we  are  uneafy  till 
we  remove  any  obftruction  that  can  in  the  lead  dil- 
turb  or  encumber  the  regularity  of  its  motions.    All 
R  4  conftitutions 


248  The  Effect  Part  IV. 

confti'tutions  of  government,  however,  are  valued 
only  in  proportion,  as  they  tend  to  promote  the  hap- 
pinefs  of  thofe  who  live  under  them.  This  is  their 
fole  ufe  and  end.  From  a  certain  fpirit  of  fyftem, 
however,  from  a  certain  love  of  art  and  contrivance, 
we  ibmetimes  feem  to  value  the  means  moie  than  the 
end,  and  to  be  eager  to  promote  the  happinefs  of 
our  fellow- creatures,  rather  from  a  view  to  pcrfedt 
and  improve  a  certain  beautiful  and  orderly  fyftem, 
than  from  any  immediate  fenle  or  feeling  of  what 
they  either  fufrer  or  enjoy.  There  have  been  men  of 
the  greater!  public  ipirit,  who  have  fhewn  themielves 
in  other  refpects  not  very  fenfible  to  the  feelings  of 
humanity.  And  on  the  contrary,  there  have  been 
men  of  the  greateft  humanity,  who  feem  to  have 
been  entirely  devoid  of  public  fpirit.  Every  man 
may  find  in  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance  inflances 
both  of  the  one  kind  and  the  other.  Who  had  ever 
lefs  humanity,  or  more  public  fpirit,  than  the  cele- 
brated legiflator  of  Mufcovy  ?  The  focial  and  well 
natured  James  the  Firfl  of  Great-Britain  feems,  on 
the  contrary,  to  have  had  fcarce  any  paffioi^  either 
for  the  glory,  or  the  intereft  of  his  country.  Would 
you  awaken  the  induftry  of  the  man,  who  feems  al- 
moft  dead  to  ambition,  it  will  often  be  to  no  purpofe 
to  defcribe  to  him  the  happinefs  of  the  rich  and  the 
great ;  to  tell  him  that  they  are  generally  (heltered 
from  the  fun  and  the  rain,  that  they  are  feldom  hun- 
gry, that  they  are  feldom  cold,  and  that  they  are  rare- 
ly expofed  to  wearinefs,  or  to  want  of  any  kind. 
The  mod  eloquent  exhortation  of  this  kind  wiJl  have 
little  erTe6t  upon  him.  If  you  would  hope  to  fuc- 
ceed,  you  muft  defcribe  to  him  the  conveniency  and 
arrangement  of  th^  different  apartments  in  their 
palaces ;  you  muft  explain  to  him  the  propriety  of 

their 


Chap.  I.  (^/Utility.  249 

their  equipages,  and  point  out  to  him  the  number, 
the  order,  and  the  different  offices  of  all  their  atten- 
dants. If  any  thing  is  capable  of  making  impreffion 
upon  him,  this  will.  Yet  all  thefe  things  tend  only 
to  keep  off  the  fun  and  the  rain,  to  fave  them  from 
hunger  and  cold,  from  want  and  wearinefs.  In  the 
fame  manner,  if  you  would  implant  public  virtue  in 
the  bread  of  him,  who  feems  heedlefs  of  the  intereft 
of  his  country,  it  will  often  be  to  no  purpofe  to  tell 
him,  what  fuperior  advantages  the  fubjecls  of  a  well- 
governed  date  enjoy  j  that  they  are  better  lodged, 
that  they  are  better  clothed,  that  they  are  better  fed. 
Thefe  confiderations  will  commonly  make  no  great 
impreffion.  You  will  be  more  likely  to  perfuade, 
if  you  defcribe  the  great  fyftem  of  public  police 
which  procures  thefe  advantages,  if  you  explain  the 
connexions  and  dependencies  of  its  feveral  parts, 
their  mutual  fubordination  to  one  another,  and  their 
general  fubferviency  to  the  happinefs  of  the  fociety ; 
if  you  mow  how  this  fyftem  might  be  introduced  into 
his  own  country,  what  it  is  that  hinders  it  from  tak- 
ing place  there  at  prefent,  how  thofe  obftru&ions 
might  be  removed,  and  all  the  feveral  wheels  of  the 
machine  of  government  be  made  to  move  with  more 
harmony  and  fmoothnefs,  without  grating  upon  one 
another,  or  mutually  retarding  one  another's  moti- 
ons. It  is  fcarce  poffible  that  a  man  mould  liften  to 
a  difcourfe  of  this  kind,  and  not  feel  himfelf  ani- 
mated to  fome  degree  of  public  fpirit.  He  will,  at 
lead  for  the  moment,  feel  fome  defire  to  remove  thofe 
obftructions,  and  to  put  into  motion  fo  beautiful  and 
fo  orderly  a  machine.  Nothing  tends  fo  much  to 
promote  public  fpirit  as  the  ftudy  of  politics,  of  the 
feveral  fyftems  of  civil  government,  their  advantages 
and  difadvantages,  of  the  constitution  of  our  own 

country, 


250  The  Effect  Part  IV. 

country,  its  fituation,  and  intereft  with  regard  to 
foreign  nations,  its  commerce,  its  defence,  the  difad- 
vantages  it  labours  under,  the  dangers  to  which  it 
may  be  expofed,  how  to  remove  the  one,  and  how 
to  guard  againft  the  other.  Upon  this  account  po- 
litical difquifitions,  if  juft  and  reafonable,  and  prac- 
ticable, are  of  all  the  works  of  fpeculation  the  moil 
ufeful.  Even  the  weakeftand  theworflof  them  are  not 
altogether  without  their  utility.  They  ferve  at  leafl 
to  animate  the  public  paffions  of  men,  and  roufe  them 
to  feek  out  the  means  of  promoting  the  happinefs  of 
the  fociety. 


CHAP.      II. 


Of  the  beauty  which  the  appearance  of  utility  bejlows 
upon  the  characlers  and  atlions  of  men  •,  and  how  far 
the  perception  of  this  beauty  may  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  original  principles  of  approbation. 


T, 


H  E  characters  of  men,  as  well  as  the  contri- 
vances of  art,  or  the  inftitutions  of  civil  govern- 
ment,  may  be  fitted  either  to  promote  or  to  difturb 
the  happinefs  both  of  the  individual  and  of  the  fo- 
ciety. The  prudent,  the  equitable,  the  active,  re- 
folute,  and  fober  character  promifes  profperity  and 
fatisfadion,  boxh  to  the  perfon  himfelf  and  to  every 
one  connected  with  him.  The  raih,  the  infolent, 
the  flothful,  effeminate,  and  voluptuous,  on  the 
contrary,  forebodes  ruin  to  the  individual,  and  mif- 
fortune  to  all  who  jjave  any  thing  to  do  with  him. 
The  firft  turn  of  mind  has  at  leaft  all  the  beauty 

which 


Chap.  II.  e/  Utility.  251 

which  can  belong  to  the  mod  perfect  machine  that 
was  ever  invented  for  promoting  the  mod  agreeable 
purpofc :  and  the  fecond  ail  the  deformity  of  the 
mod  awkward  and  clumfy  contrivance.  What  in- 
ftitution  of  government  could  tend  lb  much  to  pro- 
mote the  happinefs  of  mankind  as  the  general  pre- 
valence of  wifdom  and  virtue  ?  All  government  is 
but  an  imperfect  remedy  for  the  deficiency  of  thefe. 
Whatever  beauty,  therefore,  can  belong  to  civil  go- 
vernment upon  account  of  its  utility,  mufr  in  a  far 
fuperior  degree  belong  to  thefe.  On  the  contrary, 
what  civil  policy  can  be  fo  ruinous  and  d-flructive  as 
the  vices  of  men  ?  The  fatal  effects  of  bad  govern- 
ment arife  from  nothing,  but  that  it  does  not  iuffici- 
ently  guard  againft  the  mifchiefs  which  human  wick- 
ed nefs  gives  occafion  to. 

This  beauty  and  deformity  which  characters  ap- 
pear to  derive  from  their  ufefulnefs  or  inconveniency, 
are  apt  to  ftrike,  in  a  peculiar  manner,  thole  who 
confider,  in  an  abftract  and  philofophical  light,  the 
actions  and  conduct  of  mankind.  When  a  philofo- 
pher  goes  to  examine  why  humanity  is  approved  of, 
or  cruelty  condemned,  he  does  not  always  form  to 
himfelf,  in  a  very  clear  and  diifinct  manner,  the  con- 
ception of  any  one  particular  action  either  of  cruelty 
or  of  humanity,  but  is  commonly  contented  with  the 
vague  and  indeterminate  idea  which  the  general 
names  of  thofe  qualities  fuggeft  to  him.  But  it  is  in 
particular  inftances  only  that  the  propriety  or  impro- 
priety, the  merit  or  demerit  of  actions  is  very  obvious 
and  difcernible.  It  is  only  when  particular  exam- 
ples are  given  that  we  perceive  diftinctly  either  the 
concord  or  difagreement  between  our  own  affections 
and  thofe  of  the  agent,  or  feel  a  focial  gratitude  arife 

towards 


252  The  Effect  Part  IV. 

towards  him  in  the  one  cafe,  or  a  fympathetic  re- 
ientment  in  the  other.  When  we  confider  virtue  and 
vice  in  an  abftract  and  general  manner,  the  qualities 
by  which  they  excite  thefe  ieveral  fentiments  feem  in 
a  great  meafure  to  diiappear,  and  the  fentiments 
themfelves  become  lefs  obvious  and  difcernible.  On 
the  contrary,  the  happy  effects  of  the  one  and  the 
fatal  confequences  of  the  other  feem  then  to  rife  up 
to  the  view,  and  as  it  were  to  (land  out  and  diftin- 
guifh  themfelves  from  all  the  other  qualities  of 
either. 

The  fame  ingenious  and  agreeable  author  who 
firft  explained  why  utility  pleafes,  has  been  fo  (truck 
with  this  view  of  things,  as  to  refolve  our  whole  ap- 
probation of  virtue  into  a  perception  of  this  fpecies 
of  beauty  which  refults  from  the  appearance  of  uti- 
lity. No  qualities  of  the  mind,  he  obferves,  are  ap- 
proved of  as  virtuous,  but  fuch  as  are  ufefui  or 
agreeable  either  to  the  perfon  himfelf  or  to  others  ; 
and  no  qualities  are  difapproved  of  as  vicious  but 
fuch  as  have  a  contrary  tendency.  And  Nature,  in- 
deed, feems  to  have  fo  happily  adjufted  our  fenti- 
ments of  approbation  and  difapprobation,  to  the  con- 
veniency  both  of  the  individual  and  of  the  fociety, 
that  after  the  ftricteft  examination  it  will  be  found,  I 
believe,  that  this  is  univerfally  the  cafe.  But  (till  I 
affirm,  that  it  is  not  the  view  of  this  utility  or  hurt- 
fulnefs  which  is  either  the  firft  or  principal  fource  of 
our  approbation  and  difapprobation.  Thefe  fenti- 
ments are  no  cloubt  enhanced  and  enlivened  by  the 
perception  of  the  beauty  or  deformity  which  refults 
from  this  utility  or  hurtfulnefs.  But  (till,  I  fay, 
they  are  originally  ar.d  effentially  different  from  this 
perception. 

For 


Chap.  II.  ^Utility.  25g 

For  firfb  of  all,  it  feems  impoflible  that  the  appro- 
bation of  virtue  mould  be  a  fentiment  of  the  fame 
kind  with  that  by  which  we  approve  of  a  convenient 
and  well  contrived  building  •,  or  that  we  fhould  have 
no  other  reafon  for  praifing  a  man  than  that  for 
which  we  commend  a  cheft  of  drawers. 

And  fecondly,  it  will  be  found,  upon  examinati- 
on, that  the  ufefulnefs  of  any  difpofuion  of  mind  is 
feldom  the  firft  ground  of  our  approbation  •,  and  that 
the  fentiment  of  approbation  always  involves  in  it  a 
fenfe  of  propriety  quite  diftincl  from  the  perception 
of  utility.  We  may  obferve  this  with  regard  to  all 
the  qualities  which  are  aproved  of  as  virtuous,  both 
thofe  which,  according  to  this  fyftem,  are  originally 
valued  as  ufeful  to  ourfelves,  as  well  as  thofe  which 
are  efteemed  on  account  of  their  ufefulnefs  to  others. 

The  qualities  mod  ufeful  to  ourfelves  are,  firft  of 
all,  fuperior  reafon  and  underftanding,  by  which 
we  are  capable  of  difcerning  the  remote  confequen- 
ces  of  all  our  actions,  and  of  forefeeing  the  advan- 
tage or  detriment  which  is  likely  to  refult  from 
them  :  and  fecondly,  felf- command,  by  which  we 
are  enabled  to  abftain  from  prefent  pleafure  or  to  en- 
dure prefent  pain,  in  order  to  obtain  a  greater  plea- 
fure or  to  avoid  a  greater  pain  in  fome  future  time. 
In  the  union  of  thofe  two  qualities  confifts  the  vir- 
tue of  prudence,  of  all  the  virtues  that  which  is  moil: 
ufeful  to  the  individual. 

With  regard  to  the  firft  of  thofe  qualities,  it  has 
been  obferved  on  a  former  occafion,  that  fuperior 
reafon  and  underftanding  are  originally  approved  of 

as 


254  7i*  Ejfect  Part  IV, 

as  juft  and  right  and  accurate,  and  not  merely  as 
ufeful  or  advantageous.  It  is  in  the  abftrufer  fciences, 
particularly  in  the  higher  parts  of  mathematics,  that 
the  greater!  and  moft  admired  exertions  of  human 
reafon  have  been  difplayed.  But  the  utility  of  thofe 
fciences,  either  to  the  individual  or  to  the  public,  is 
not  very  obvious,  and  to  prove  it  requires  a  difcuf- 
fion  which  is  not  always  very  eafily  comprehended. 
It  was  not,  therefore,  their  utility  which  firft  recom- 
mended them  to  the  public  admiration.  This  qua- 
lity was  but  little  infilled  upon,  till  it  became  necef- 
fary  to  make  fome  reply  to  the  reproaches  of  thofe, 
who,  having  themfelves  no  tafte  for  fuch  fublime 
difcoveries,  endeavoured  to  depreciate  them  as  ufe- 
lefs. 

That  felf-command,  in  the  fame  manner,  by  which 
we  reftrain  our  prefent  appetites,  in  order  to  gratify 
them  more  fully  upon  another  occafion,  is  approved 
of,  as  much  under  the  afpect  of  propriety,  as  under 
that  of  utility.     When  we  act  in  this  manner,   the 
fentiments  which  influence  our  conduct  feem  exactly 
to  coincide  with  thofe  of  the  fpectator.     The  fpecta- 
tor  does  not  feel  the  folicitations  of  our  prefent  appe- 
tites.    To  him  the  pleafure  which  we  are  to  enjoy  a 
week  hence,  or  a  year  hence,  is  juft  as  interefting 
as  that  which  we  are  to  enjoy  this  moment.      When 
for  the  fake  of  the  prefent,   therefore,    we  facrifice 
the  future,  our  conduct  appears  to  him  abfurd  and 
extravagant  in  the  higheft  degree,  and  he  cannot  en- 
ter into   the  principles  which  influence  it.     On  the 
contrary,  when  we  abftain  from  prefent  pleafure,   in 
order  to  fecure   greater  pleafure  to  come,   when  we 
act   as  if  the  remote  object  interefts  us  as  much  as 
that  which  immediately  prelTes  upon  the  fenfes,  as 

our 


Chap.  II.  ^/Utility.  2,55 

our  affe6tions  exactly  correfpond  with  his  own,  he 
cannot  fail  to  approve  of  our  behaviour :  and  as  he 
knows  from  experience,  how  few  are  capable  of  this 
felf-command,  he  looks  upon  our  conduct  with  a 
confiderable  degree  of  wonder  and  admiration. 
Hence  arifes  that  eminent  efleem  with  which  all 
men  naturally  regard  a  Heady  perieverance  in  the 
practice  of  frugality,  induftry,  and  application, 
though  directed  to  no  other  purpofe  than  the  acqui- 
fition  of  fortune.  The  refolute  firmnefs  of  the  per- 
fon  who  acts  in  this  manner,  and  in  order  to  obtain 
a  great  though  remote  advantage,  not  only  gives  up 
all  prefent  pleafures,  but  endures  the  greateft  labour 
both  of  mind  and  body,  necefiarily  commands  our 
approbation.  That  view  of  his  intereft  and  happi- 
nefs  which  appears  to  regulate  his  conduct,  exactly 
tallies  with  the  idea  which  we  naturally  form  of  it. 
There  is  the  mod  perfect  correfpondence  between  his 
fentiments  and  our  own,  and  at  the  fame  time,  from 
our  experience  of  the  common  weaknefs  of  human 
nature,  it  is  a  correfpondence  which  we  could  not 
reafonably  have  expected.  We  not  only  approve, 
therefore,  but  in  fome  meafure  admire  his  conduct, 
and  think  it  worthy  of  a  confiderable  degree  of  ap^ 
plaufe.  It  is  the  confcioufnefs  of  this  merited  appro- 
bation and  efteem  which  is  alone  capable  of  fupport- 
ing  the  agent  in  this  tenour  of  conduct.  The  plea- 
fure  which  we  are  to  enjoy  ten  years  hence  interefts 
us  fo  little  in  comparifon  with  that  which  we  may 
enjoy  to-day,  the  paffion  which  the  firft  excites,  is 
naturally  fo  weak  in  comparifon  with  that  violent 
emotion  which  the  fecond  is  apt  to  give  occafion  to, 
that  one  could  never  be  any  balance  to  the  other,  un- 
lefs  it  was  fupported  by  the  fenfe  of  propriety,  by 
the   confcioufnefs  that  we  merited  the  efteem  and 

approbation 


256  Tbt  Effect  Part  IV. 

approbation  of  every  body,  by  acting  in  the  one 
way,  and  that  we  became  the  proper  objects  of  their 
contempt  and  derifion  by  behaving  in  the  other. 

Humanity,  juftice,  generofity,  and  public  fpirit, 
are  the  qualities  moll  ufeful  to  others.  Wherein 
confifts  the  propriety  of  humanity  and  juftice  has 
been  explained  upon  a  former  occafion,  where  it 
was  fhewn  how  much  ourefteem  and  approbation  of 
thofe  qualities  depended  upon  the  concord  between 
the  affections  of  the  agent  and  thofe  of  the  fpecta- 
tors. 

The  propriety  of  generofity  and  public  fpirit  is 
founded  upon  the  fame  principle  with  that  of  juftice. 
Generofity  is  different  from  humanity.  Thofe  two 
qualities,  which  at  firft  fight  feem  fo  nearly  allied, 
do  not  always  belong  to  the  fame  perfon.  Humani- 
ty is  the  virtue  of  a  woman,  generofity  of  a  man. 
The  fair  fex,  who  have  commonly  much  more  ten- 
dernefs  than  ours,  have  feldom  fo  much  generofity. 
That  women  rarely  make  confiderable  donations  is 
an  obfervation  of  the  civil  law*.  Humanity  confifts 
merely  in  the  exquifite  fellow-feeling  which  the  fpec- 
tator  entertains  with  the  fentiments  of  the  perfon§ 
principally  concerned,  fo  as  to  grieve  for  their  fuf- 
ferings,  to  refent  their  injuries,  and  to  rejoice  at 
their  good  fortune.  The  mod  humane  actions  re- 
quire no  felf-denial,  no  felf-command,  no  great  ex- 
ertion of  the  fenfe  of  propriety.  They  confift  only 
in  doing  what  this  exquifite  fympathy  would  of  its 
own  accord  prompt  us  to  do.     But  it  is  otherwife 

with 

*  Raro  mulieres  donare  folcnt. 


Chap.  II.  (/Utility.  257 

with  generofny.  We  never  are  generous  except 
when  in  fome  refpeft  we  prefer  fome  other  perfon  to 
ourfelves,  and  facrifice  fome  great  and  important  in- 
tereft  of  ou*r  own  to  an  equal  intereft  of  a  friend  or  of 
a  fuperior.  The  man  who  gives  up  his  pretentions 
to  an  office  that  was  the  great  object  of  his  ambition, 
becaufe  he  imagines  that  the  fervices  of  another  are 
better  entitled  to  it  •,  the  man  who  expofes  his  life  to 
defend  that  of  his  friend,  which  he  judges  to  be  of 
more  importance,  neither  of  them  aft  from  humani- 
ty, or  becaufe  they  feel  more  exquifitely  what  con- 
cerns that  other  perfon  than  what  concerns  themfelves. 
They  both  confider  thofe  oppofite  interefts  not  in  the 
light  in  which  they  naturally  appear  to  themfelves, 
but  in  that  in  which  they  appear  to  others.  To  every 
byftander,  the  fuccefs  or  prefervation  of  this  other 
perfon  may  juftly  be  more  interefting  than  their  own  •, 
but  it  cannot  be  fo  to  themfelves.  When  to  the  in- 
tereft of  this  other  perfon,  therefore,  they  facrifice 
their  own,  they  accommodate  themfelves  to  the  fen- 
timents  of  the  fpeftator,  and  by  an  effort  of  magna- 
nimity aft  according  to  thofe  views  of  things  which 
they  feel,  muft  naturally  occur  to  any  third  perfon. 
The  foldier  who  throws  away  his  life  in  order  to  de- 
fend that  of  his  officer,  would  perhaps  be  but  little 
afFefted  by  the  death  of  that  officer,  if  it  fhould 
happen  without  any  fault  of  his  own ;  and  a  very 
fmall  difafter  which  had  befallen  himfelf  might  ex- 
cite  a  much  more  lively  forrow.  But  when  he  en- 
deavours to  aft  fo  as  to  deferve  applaufe,  and  to 
make  the  impartial  fpeftator  enter  into  the  princi- 
ples of  his  conduft,  he  feels,  that  to  every  body  but 
himfelf,  his  own  life  is  a  trifle  compared  with  that  of 
his  officer,  and  that  when  he  facrifices  the  one  to  the 
other,  he  afts  quite  properly  and  agreeably  to  what 

S  would 


25S  Tbe  Effect  Part  IV. 

would  be  the  natural  apprehenfions  of  every  impar- 
tial byftander. 

It  is  the  fame  cafe  with  the  greater  exertions  of 
public  fpirit.     When  a  young  officer  expofes  his  life 
to  acquire  fome  inconfiderable  addition  to  the  domi- 
nions of  his  fovereign,   it  is  not,    becaufe  the  acqui- 
fition  of  the  new  territory  is,  to  himfelf,  an  object 
more  defireable  than    the    prefervation   of  his  own 
life.     To  him  his  own  life  is  of  infinitely  more  va- 
lue than  the  conqueft  of  a  whole  kingdom  for  the 
Hate  which  he  ferves.     But   when  he  compares  thofe 
two  objects  with  one  another,  he  does  not  view  them 
in  the  light  in  which  they  naturally  appear  to  him- 
felf,   but  in  that  in  which  they  appear  to  the  nation 
he  rights   for.      To  them  the  fuccefs  of  the  war 
is  of   the  higheft  importance ;     the  life  of  a    pri- 
vate perfon  of  fcarce  any  confequence.     When  he 
puts  himfelf  in  their  fituation,  he  immediately  feels 
that  he  cannot  be  too  prodigal  of  his  blood,  if  by 
fhedding  it,  he  can  promote  fo  valuable  a  purpofe. 
In  thus  thwarting,  from  a  fenfe  of  duty  and  proprie- 
ty, the  ftrongeft  of  all  natural  propenfities,  confifts 
the  heroifm  of  his  conduct.     There  is  many  an  ho- 
neft  Englilhman,    who,  in  his  private  itation,  would 
be  more  ferioufly  difturbed  by  the  lofs  of  a  guinea, 
than  by  the  national  lofs  of  Minorca,  who  yet,  had 
it  been  in  his  power  to  defend  that  fortrefs,   would 
have  facrificed  his  life  a  thoufand  times  rather  than, 
through  his  fault,   have  let  it  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  enemy.     When  the  firft  Brutus  led  forth  his 
own  fons  to  a  capital  punifhrnent,  becaufe  they  had 
confpired  againft  the  rifing  liberty  of  Rome,   he  fa- 
crificed what,  if  tie  had  confulted  his  own  bread 
only,  would  appear  to  be  the  flronger  to  the  weaker 

affection. 


Chap.  II;  of  U  t  i  L  i  t  y.  259 

affection.     Brutus  ought  naturally  to  have  felt  much 
more  for  the  death  of  his  own  fons,  than  for  all  th4t 
probably  Rome  could  have  fuffered  from  the  want  of 
fo  great  an  example.     But  he  viewed  them,  not  with 
the  eyes  of  a  father,  but  with  thofeof  a  Roman  citizen. 
He  entered  fo  thoroughly  into  the  fentiments  of  this 
laft  character,  that   he   paid   no  regard  to  that  tye, 
by  which  he  himfelf  was  connected  with  them  ;   and 
to  a  Roman  citizen,  the  fons  even  of  Brutus  feemed 
contemptible,   when   put  into  the  balance  with  the 
fmalleft  intereft  of  Rome.     In  thefe  and  in  all  other 
cafes  of  this  kind,   our  admiration   is  not  fo  much 
founded  upon  the  utility,  as  upon  the  unexpected, 
and  on  that  account  the  great,  the  noble,  and  exalt- 
ed propriety  of  fuch  actions.     This  utility,  when  we 
come  to  view  it,    bellows  upon  them,   undoubtedly, 
a  new  beauty,  and    upon  that  account  ilill  further 
recommends  them  to  our  approbation.     This  beauty, 
however,   is  chiefly  perceived  by  men  of  reflection 
and  fpeculation,    and   is   by   no  means  the  quality 
which  flrft  recommends  fuch   actions  to  the  natural 
fentiments  of  the  bulk  of  mankind. 

It  is  to  be  obferved,  that  fo  far  as  the  fentiment 
of  approbation  arifes  from  the  perception  of  this 
beauty  of  utility,  it  has  no  reference  of  any  kind  to 
the  fentiments  of  others.  If  it  was  poffible,  there- 
fore, that  a  perfon  mould  grow  up  to  manhood  with- 
out any  communication  with  fociety,  his  own  actions 
might,  notwithstanding,  be  agreeable  or  difagreeable 
to  him  on  account  of  their  tendency  to  his  happinefs 
or  difadvantage.  He  might  perceive  a  beauty  of 
this  kind  in  prudence,  temperance,  and  good  con- 
duct, and  a  deformity  in  the  oppofite  behaviour : 
He  might  view  his  own  temper  and  character  with 
S  2  that 


260  The  Effect,  &c.  Part  IV. 

that  fort  of  fatisfaction  with  which  we  confider  a  well 
contrived  machine,  in   the  one  cafe-,   or  with  that 
fort  of  diftafte  and  diflatisfaction  with  which  we  regard 
a  very  awkward   and  clumfy   contrivance,    in   the 
other.     As  thefe  perceptions,  however,  are  merely  a 
^natter  of  tafte,  and  have  all  the  feeblenefs  and  deli- 
cacy of  that  fpecies  of  perceptions,   upon  the  juftnefs 
of  which  what  is  properly  called  tafte  is  founded, 
they  probably  would  not  be  much  attended  to  by  one 
in  his  folitary  and  miferable  condition.    Even  though 
they  mould  occur  to  him,  they  would  by  no  means  have 
the  fame  effect  upon  him,  antecedent  to  his  connexi- 
on with   fociety,  which  they  would  have  in  confe- 
quence  of  that  connexion.     He  would  not  be  caft 
down  with  inward  fhame  at  the  thought  of  this  de- 
formity \  nor  would  he  be  elevated  with  fecret  tri- 
umph of  mind  from  the  confcioufnefs  of  the  contrary 
beauty.     He  would  not  exult  from  the  notion  of  de- 
ferving  reward  in  the  one  cafe,  nor  tremble  from  the 
fufpicion  of  meriting  punifhment  in  the  other.     All 
fuch  fentiments  fuppofe  the  idea  of  fome  other  being, 
who  is  the  natural  judge  of  the  peribn   that  feels 
them  ;  and  it  is  only  by  fympathy  with  the  decifions 
of  this  arbiter  of  his  conduct,  that  he  can  conceive, 
either  the  triumph  of  felf-applaufe,  or  the  fhame  of 
felf-condemnation0 


PAR  T 


PART     V. 

Of  the  Influence  of  Custom  and 
Fashion  upon  the  fentiments  of  moral 
approbation  and  difapprobation. 

CONSISTING  OF  ONE  SECTION. 


CHAP.     I. 

Of  the  influence  of  cuftom  and  fafhion  upon  our  noti- 
ons of  beauty  and  deformity. 


A  H  E  R  E  are  other  principles  befides  thofe  al- 
ready enumerated,  which  have  a  confiderable  influ- 
ence upon  the  moral  fentiments  of  mankind,  and  are 
the  chief  caufes  of  the  many  irregular  and  difcordant 
opinions  which  prevail  in  different  ages  and  nations 
concerning  what  is  blameable  or  praife- worthy. 
Thefe  principles  are  cuftom  and  fa&ion,  principles 
which  extend  their  dominion  over  our  judgments 
concerning  beauty  of  every  kind. 

When  two  objects  have  frequently  been  feen  toge- 
ther, the  imagination  acquires  a  habit  of  paMing 
eafily  from  the  one  to  the  other.  If  the  firft  appear, 
we  lay  our  account  that  the  fecond  is  to  follow.     Of 

S  3  their 


262  Of  the  Influence  Part  V. 

their  own  accord  they  putjjs  in  mind  of  one  another, 
and  the  attention  glides  eafily  along  them.  Though, 
independent  of  cuftom,  there  fliould  be  no  real 
beauty  in  their  union,  yet  when  cuftom  has  thus 
connected  them  together,  we  feel  an  impropriety  in 
their  feparation.  The  one  we  think  is  awkward 
when  it  appears  without  its  ufual  companion.  We 
mils  fomething  which  we  expected  to  find,  and  the 
habitual  arrangement  of  our  ideas  is  difturbed  by 
the  disappointment.  A  fuit  of  clothes,  for  example, 
feems  to  want  fomething  if  they  are  without  the  moft 
infignificant  ornament  which  ufually  accompanies 
them,  and  we  find  a  meannefs  or  awkwardnefs  in  the 
abfence  even  of  a  haunch  button.  When  there  is 
any  natural  propriety  in  the  union,  cuftcm  increafes 
our  fenfe  of  it,  and  makes  a  different  arrangement 
appear  ftill  more  difagreeable  than  it  would  otherwife 
feem  10  be.  Thofe  who  have  been  accuftomed  to 
fee  things  in  a  good  tafte,  are  more  difgufted  by 
whatever  is  clumfy  or  awkward.  Where  the  con- 
junction is  improper,  cuftom  either  diminifhes,  or 
takes  away  altogether,  our  kwk  of  the  impropriety. 
Thole  who  have  been  accuftomed  to  flovenly  diforder 
loth  all  fenfe  of  neatnefs  or  elegance.  The  modes  of 
furniture  or  drefs  which  feem  ridiculous  to  ftrangers, 
give  no  offence  to  the  people  who  are  ufed  to  them. 

Fafhion  is  different  from  cuftom,  or  rather  is  a 
particular  fpecies  of  it.  That  is  not  the  fafhion  which 
every  body  wears,  but  which  thofe  wear  who  are  of 
a  high  rank,  or  character.  The  graceful,  the  eafy, 
and  commanding  manners  of  the  great,  joined  to  the 
uiual  richnefs  and  magnificence  of  their  drefs,  give 
a  grace  to  the  veryjbrm  which  they  happen  to  beftow 

upon 


Chap.  I.  of  C  u  s  t  o  m.  263 

upon  it.  As  long  as  they  continue  to  ufe  this  form, 
it  is  connected  in  our  imaginations  with  the  idea  of 
fomeching  that  is  genteel  and  magnificent,  and  though 
in  itfelf  it  mould  be  indifferent,  it  feems,  on  account 
of  this  relation,  to  have  fomething  about  it  that  is 
genteel  and  magnificent  too.  As  foon  as  they  drop 
it,  it  lofes  all  the  grace,  which  it  had  appeared  to  poi- 
fefs  before,  and  being  now  ufed  only  by  the  inferior 
ranks  of  people,  feems  to  have  fomething  of  their 
meannefs  and  awkwardnefs. 

Drefs  and  furniture  are  allowed  by  all  the  world 
to  be  entirely  under  the  dominion  of  cuftom  and 
fafhion.  The  influence  of  thofe  principles,  however, 
is  by  no  means  confined  to  fo  narrow  a  fphere,  but 
extends  itfelf  to  whatever  is  in  any  refpect  the  object 
of  tade,  to  mufic,  to  poetry,  to  architecture.  The 
modes  of  drefs  and  furniture  are  continually  chang- 
ing, and  that  fafhion  appearing  ridiculous  to-day 
which  was  admired  five  years  ago,  we  are  experi- 
mentally convinced  that  it  owed,  its  vogue  chiefly  or 
entirely  to  cuftom  and  fafhion.  Clothes  and  furni- 
ture are  not  made  of  very  durable  materials.  A  well 
fancied  coat  is  done  in  a  twelve-month,  and  cannot 
continue  longer  to  propagate,  as  the  fafhion,  that 
form  according  to  which  it  was  made.  The  modes 
of  furniture  change  lefs  rapidly  than  thofe  of  drefs ; 
becaufe  furniture  is  commonly  more  durable.  In 
five  or  fix  years,  however,  it  generally  undergoes  an 
entire  revolution,  and  every  man  in  his  own  time  fees 
the  fafhion  in  this  refpecl:  change  many  different  ways. 
The  productions  of  the  other  arts  are  much  more  lad- 
ing, and,  when  happily  imagined,  may  continue  to 
propagate  the  fafhion  of  their  make  for  a  much  longer 
time.  A  well  contrived  building  may  endure  many 
S  4  centuries 


264  Of  the  Influence  Part  V. 

centuries :  a  beautiful  air  may  be  delivered  down  by 
a  fort  of  tradition,  through  many  fucceffive  genera- 
tions :  a  well  written  poem  may  laft  as  long  as  the 
world  ;  and  all  of  them  continue  for  ages  together, 
to  give  the  vogue  to  that  particular  ftyle,  to  that  par- 
ticular tafte  or  manner,  according  to  which  each  of 
them  was  compofed.  Few  men*have  an  opportunity 
of  feeing  in  their  own  times  the  fafhion  in  any  of 
the{c  arts  change  very  confiderably.  Few  men  have 
fo  much  experience  and  acquaintance  with  the  differ- 
ent modes  which  have  obtained  in  remote  ages  and 
nations,  as  to  be  thoroughly  reconciled  to  them,  or  to 
judge  with  impartiality  between  them,  and  what  takes 
place  in  their  own  age  and  country.  Few  men  there- 
fore are  willing  to  allow  that  cuftom  or  fafhion  have 
much  influence  upon  their  judgments  concerning 
what  is  beautiful,  or  otherwife,  in  the  productions 
of  any  of  thole,  arts  5  but  imagine,  that  all  the  rules, 
which  they  think  ought  to  be  obferved  in  each  of 
them,  are  founded  upon  reafon  and  nature,  not  upon 
habit  or  prejudice.  A  very  little  attention,  however, 
may  convince  them  of  the  contrary,  and  fatisfy  them, 
that  the  influence  of  cuftom  and  fafhion  over  drefr, 
and  furniture,  is  not  more  abfolute  than  over  archi- 
tecture, poetry,  and  mufic. 

Can  any  reafon,  for  example,  be  afligned  why  the 
Doric  capital  fhould  be  appropriated  to  a  pillar, 
whole  height  is  equal  to  eight  diameters ;  the  Ionic 
volute  to  one  of  nine  -,  and  the  Corinthian  foliage  to 
one  of  ten  ?  The  propriety  of  each  of  thofe  appro- 
priations can  be  founded  upon  nothing  but  habit  and 
cuftom.  The  eye  having  been  ufed  to  fee  a  particu- 
lar proportion  connected  with  a  particular  ornament^ 
would  be  offended  if  they  were  not  joined  together. 

Each 


Chap  I.  of  C  u  s  t  •  m.  26*5 

Each  of  the  five  orders  has  its  peculiar  ornaments, 
which  cannot  be  changed  for  any  other,  without 
giving  offence  to  all  thofe  who  know  any  thing  of 
the  rules  of  architecture.  According  to  fome  archi- 
tec~h,  1  indeed,  fuch  is  the  exquifite  judgment  with 
which  the  ancients  have  afligned  to  each  order  its  pro- 
per ornaments,  that  no  others  can  be  found  which 
are  equally  fuitable.  It  feems,  however,  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  be  conceived  that  thefe  forms,  though,  no 
doubt,  extremely  agreeable,  fliould  be  the  only  forms 
which  can  fuit  thofe  proportions,  or  that  there  mould 
not  be  five  hundred  others  which,  antecedent  to 
eftablilhed  cuftom,  would  have  fitted  them  equally 
well.  When  cuftom,  however,  has  eftablifhed  par- 
ticular rules  of  building,  provided  they  are  not  ab- 
folutely  unreafonable,  it  is  abfurd  to  think  of  alter- 
ing them  for  others  which  are  only  equally  good,  or 
even  for  others  which,  in  point  of  elegance  and 
beauty,  have  naturally  fome  little  advantage  over 
them.  A  man  would  be  ridiculous  who  fliould  ap- 
pear in  public  with  a  fuit  of  clothes  quite  different 
from  thofe  which  are  commonly  worn,  though  the 
new  drefs  mould  in  itfelf  be  ever  fo  graceful  or  con- 
venient. And  there  feems  to  be  an  abfurdity  of  the 
fame  kind  in  ornamenting  a  houfe  after  a  quite  dif- 
ferent manner  from  that  which  cuftom  and  fafhion 
have  prefcribed  •,  though  the  new  ornaments  fhould 
in  themfelves  be  fomewhat  fuperior  to  the  common 
ones. 

According  to  the  ancient  rhetoricians,  a  certain 
meafure  or  verfe  was  by  nature  appropriated  to  each 
particular  fpecies  of  writing,  as  being  naturally  ex- 
preffive  of  that   character,    fentiment,    or   paflion, 

which 


266  Of  the  Influence  Part  V. 

which  ought  to  predominate  in  it.  One  verfe,  they 
faid,  was  fit  for  grave  and  another  for  gay  works, 
which  could  not,  they  thought,  be  interchanged 
without  the  greateft  impropriety.  The  experience 
of  modern  times,  however,  feems  to  contradict  this 
principle,  though  in  itfelf  it  would  appear  to  be 
extremely  probable.  What  is  the  burlefque  verfe  in 
Englifh  is  the  heroic  verfe  in  French.  The  trage- 
dies of  Racine  and  the  Henriad  of  Voltaire,  are  in 
the  fame  verfe  with, 

Thus  faid  to  my  lady  the  knight  full  of  care. 

The  burlefque  verfe  in  French,  on  the  contrary,  is 
pretty  much  the  fame  with  the  heroic  verfe  of  ten 
fyllables  in  Englifh.  Cuftom  has  made  the  one  na- 
tion affociate  the  ideas  of  gravity,  fublimity,  and 
ferioufnefs,  to  that  meafure  which  the  other  has 
connected  with  whatever  is  gay,  flippant,  and  ludi- 
crous. Nothing  would  appear  more  abfurd  in  Eng- 
lifh than  a  tragedy  written  in  the  Alexandrine  verfes 
of  the  French  ;  or  in  French,  than  a  work  of  the 
fame  kind  in  verfes  of  ten  fyllables. 

An  eminent  artift  will  bring  about  a  confiderable 
change  in  the  eftablifhed  modes  of  each  of  thofe  arts, 
and  introduce  a  new  fafhion  of  writing,  mufic,  or 
architecture.  As  the  drefs  of  an  agreeable  man  of 
high  rank  recommends  itfelf,  and  how  peculiar  and 
fantaftical  foeyer,  comes  foon  to  be  admired  and 
imitated  ♦,  fo  the  excellencies  of  an  eminent  nufter 
recommend  his  peculiarities,  and  his  manner  becomes 
the  fafhionable  ftyle  in  the  art  which  he  practifes. 
The  tafte  of  the  Italians  in  mufic  and  architecture, 
has,  within  thefe  fifty  years*  undergone  a  confiderable 

*     change. 


Chap.  L  of  Custom.  26j 

change,  from  imitating  the  peculiarities  of  ibme 
eminent  matters  in  each  of  thofe  arts.  Seneca  is  ac- 
cufed  by  Quintilian  of  having  corrupted  the  tafte  of 
the  Romans,  and  of  having  introduced  a  frivolous 
prettinefs  in  the  room  of  majeftic  reafon  and  mafcu- 
line  eloquence.  Salluft  and  Tacitus  have  by  others 
been  charged  with  the  fame  accusation,  tho'  in  a  dif- 
ferent, manner.  They  gave  reputation,  it  is  pre- 
tended, to  a  ftyle,  which  though  in  the  higheft  de- 
gree concife,  elegant,  exprefiivc,  and  even  poetical, 
wanted,  however,  eafe,  iimpiicity,  and  nature,  and 
was  evidently  the  production  of  the  mod  laboured 
and  ftudied  affectation.  How  many  great  qualities 
mud  that  writer  poffefs  who  can  thus  render  his  very 
faults  agreeable?  After  the  praife  of  refining  the 
tafte  of  a  nation,  the  higheft  eulogy,  perhaps,  which 
can  be  beftowed  upon  any  author  is  to  fay,  that  he 
corrupted  it.  In  our  own  language,  Mr.  Pope  and 
Dr.  Swift  have  each  of  them  introduced  a  manner 
different  from  what  was  practifed  before,  into  all 
works  that  are  written  in  rhyme,  the  one  in  long 
verfes,  the  other  in  fhort.  The  quaintnefs  of  Butler 
has  given  place  to  the  plamnels  of  Swift.  The 
rambling  freedom  of  Dryden,  and  the  correct  but 
often  tedious  and  profaic  languor  of  Addifon,  are  no 
longer  the  objects  of  imitation,  but  all  long  verfes 
are  now  written  after  the  manner  of  the  nervous  pre- 
cifion  of  Mr.  Pope. 

Neither  is  it  only  over  the  productions  of  the  arts, 
that  cuftom  and  fafhion  exert  their  dominion.  They 
influence  our  judgments,  in  the  fame  manner,  with 
regard  to  the  beauty  of  natural  objects.  What  vari- 
ous and  oppofite  forms  are  deemed  beautiful  in  dif- 
ferent fpecies  of  things  ?  The  proportions  which  are 

admired 


?68  0/  /^   Influence  Part  V. 

admired  in  one  animal,  are  altogether  different  from 
thofe  which  are  efteemed  in  another.  Every  clafs  of 
things  has  its  own  peculiar  conformation,  which  is 
approved  of,  and  has  a  beauty  of  its  own,  diftinc~t 
from  that  of  every  other  fpecies.  It  is  upon  this 
account  that  a  learned  Jefuit,  father  Burlier,  has 
determined  that  the  beauty  of  every  objedt  confifts  in 
that  form  and  colour,  which  is  mod  ufual  among 
things  of  that  particular  fort  to  which  it  belongs. 
Thus,  in  the  human  form,  the  beauty  of  each 
feature  lies  in  a  certain  middle  equally  remov- 
ed from  a  variety  of  other  forms  that  are  ugly. 
A  beautiful  nofe,  for  example,  is  one  that  is  neither 
very  long,  nor  very  fhort,  neither  very  ftraight,  nor 
very  crooked,  but  a  fort  of  middle  among  all  thefe 
extremes,  and  lefs  different  from  any  one  of  them, 
than  all  of  them  are  from  one  another.  It  is  the 
form  which  Nature  feems  to  have  aimed  at  in  them 
all,  which,  however,  fhe  deviates  from  in  a  great 
variety  of  ways,  and  very  feldom  hits  exactly  •,  but 
to  which  all  thofe  deviations  (till  bear  a  very  ftrong 
refcmblance.  When  a  number  of  drawings  are 
made  after  one  pattern,  though  they  may  all  mifs  it 
in  fome  refpects,  yet  they  will  all  refemble  it  more 
than  they  refemble  one  another  •,  the  general  charac- 
ter of  the  pattern  will  run  through  them  all  •,  the  moil 
fmgular  and  odd  will  be  thofe  which  are  moft  wide 
of  it  •,  and  though  very  few  will  copy  it  exactly,  yet 
the  moft  accurate  delineations  will  bear  a  greater  re- 
femblance  to  the  moft  carelefs,  than  the  carelefs 
ones  will  bear  to  one  another.  In  the  fame  manner, 
in  each  fpecies  of  creatures,  what  is  moft  beautiful 
bears  the  ftrongeft  charadters  of  the  general  fabric  of 
the  fpecies,  and  hasvthe  ftrongeft  refemblance  to  the 
greater  part   of  the  individuals   with   which    it    is 

claffecl 


Chap.  I.  c/  Custom,  269 

claffed.     Monfters.  on  the  contrary,  or  what  is  per- 
fectly deformed,  are  always  mod  fingular  and  odd, 
and  have  the  lead  reiemblance  to  the  generality  of 
that  fpecies   to  which  they  belong.     And  thus  the 
beauty  of  each  fpecies,  though  in  one  ienfe  the  rareft 
of  all  things,  becaufe  few  individuals  hit  this  middle 
form  exactly,  yet   in  another,    is  the  molt  common, 
becaufe  all  the  deviations  from  it  refemble  it  more 
than  they  refemble  one  another.     The  mod  cuftom- 
ary   form,  therefore,   is   in   each  fpecies   of  things, 
according  to  him,  the  moft  beautiful.     And  hence  it 
is  that  a  certain  practice  and  experience  in  contem- 
plating each  fpecies   of  objects  is   requifite,   before 
we  can  judge  of  its   beauty,  or  know  wherein  the 
middle  and  moft  ufual  form  confifts.     The  niceft 
judgment  concerning  the  beauty  of  the  human  fpe- 
cies, will  not  help  us  to  judge  of  that  of  flowers,  or 
horfes,  or  any  other  fpecies  of  things.  It  is  for  the  fame 
reafon  that  in  different  climates  and  where  different 
cuftoms  and  ways  of  living  take  place,  as  the  gene- 
rality of  any  fpecies  receives  a  different  conformation 
from   thofe  circumftances,   lb  different  ideas  of  its 
beauty  prevail.     The  beauty  of  a  Moorifh  is  not  ex- 
actly the  fame  with  that  of  an  Englifh  horfe.    What 
different  ideas  are  formed  in  different  nations  con- 
cerning the  beauty  of  the  human  fhape  and  counte- 
ance?  A  fair  complexion  is  a  mocking  deformity 
upon  the  coaft  of  Guinea.     Thick  lips  and  a  flat 
nofe  are  a  beauty.  In  fome  nations  long  ears  that  hang 
down  upon   the  fhoulders  are  the  objects  of  univer- 
fal  admiration.     In  China  if  a  lady's  foot  is  fo  large 
as  to  be  fit  to  walk  upon,  fhe  is  regarded  as  a  mon- 
fter  of  uglinefs.      Some   of  the  favage   nations  in 
North- America  tie  four  boards  round  the  heads  of 
their  children,    and  thus  fqueeze  them,  while   the 

bones 


?7°  Of  the  Influence  Part  X. 

bones  are  tender  and  griftly,   into  a  form  that  is  al- 
moft  perfectly  fquare.     Europeans  are  aftonifhed  at 
the  abfurd  barbarity  of  this  practice,  to  which  fome 
miffionaries  have  imputed   the  lingular  ftupidity  0/ 
thofe  nations  among  whom  it  prevails.     But  when 
they  condemn    thofe   favages,    they   do    not    reflect 
that  the  ladies  in  Europe  had,  till  within  thefe  very- 
few  years,    been  endeavouring,  for   near  a  century 
paft,    to  fqueeze  the  beautiful  roundneis  of  their  na- 
tural fh ape  into  a  fquare  form  of  the  fame  kind. 
And  that  notwithstanding  the  many  diftortions  and 
difeafes  which  this  practice  was  known  to  occafion, 
cuftom  had  rendered  it  agreeable  among  fome  of  the 
mod  civilized  nations,  which,   perhaps,    the  world 
ever  beheld. 

Such  is  the  fyflem  of  this  learned  and  ingenious 
father,  concerning  the  nature  of  beauty  ;   of  which 
the  whole  charm,    according  to  him,    would    thus 
feem  to  arife  from  its  falling  in  with  the  habits  which 
'cuftom  had  imprelled  upon  the  imagination,    with 
regard  to  things  of  each  particular  kind.     I  cannot, 
however,  be  induced  to  believe  that  our  fenfe  even 
of  external  beauty  is  founded  altogether  on  cuftom. 
The   utility  of  any  form,  its   fitneis  for  the  ufeful 
purpofes  for  which   it  was  intended,  evidently    re- 
commends it,   and  renders  it  agreeable  to  us  inde- 
pendent of  cuftom.     Certain  colours  are  more  agree- 
able than  others,  and  give  more  delight  to  the  eye 
the  firft  time  it  ever  beholds  them.     A  fmooth  fur- 
face  is  more  agreeable  than  a  rough  one.     Variety  is 
more  pleafmg  than  a  tedious  undiverfified  uniformity. 
Connected  variety,  in  which  each    new   appearance 
feems  to  be  introduced  by  what  went  before  it,  and  in 
which  all  the  adjoining  parrs  feem  to  have  fome  na- 
tural 


Chap.  II.  ©/Custom.  271 

tural  relation  to  one  another,  is  more  agreeable  than 
a  disjointed  and  diforderly  aflemblage  of  unconnect- 
ed objects.  But  though  I  cannot  admit  that  cuftom 
is  the  fole  principle  of  beauty,  yet  I  can  ib  far  allow 
the  truth  of  this  ingenious  fyftem  as  to  grant,  that 
there  is  fcarce  any  one  external  form  fo  beautiful  as 
to  pleafe,  if  quite  contrary  to  cuftom  and  unlike 
whatever  we  have  been  ufed  to  in  that  particular  fpe- 
cies  of  things  :  or  fo  deformed  as  not  to  be  agreeable, 
if  cuftom  uniformly  iupports  it,  and  habituates  us 
to  fee  it  in  every  fingle  individual  of  the  kind. 

CHAP.     II. 

Of  the  influence  of  cuftom    and  fafoion  upon   moral 
fentiments. 


O I N  C  E    our   fentiments    concerning  beauty  of 
every  kind  are  fo  much  influenced   by  cuftom  and 
fafhion,  it  cannot  be  expected,  that  thofe,  concern- 
ing the  beauty,  of  conduct,  fhould  be    entirely  ex- 
empted from  the  dominion  of  thofe  principles.   Their 
influence  here,  however,   fcems  to  be  much  lefs  than 
it  is  every  where  elfe.     There  is,  perhaps,    no  form 
of  external  objects,  how  abfurd  and  fantaftical  fo- 
ever,    to  which   cuftom  will  not   reconcile  us,   or 
which  fafhion  will  not  render  even  agreeable.     But 
the  characters  and  conduct  of  a  Nero,  or  a  Claudius, 
are  what  no  cuftom  will  ever  reconcile  us  to,   what 
no  fafhion  will  ever  render  agreeable ;   but  the  one 
will  always  be  the  object  of  dread  and  hatred  ;  the 
other  of  fcorn  and  derifion.     The  principles  of  the 
imagination,   upon  which  our  fenfe  of  beauty  de- 
pends, 


272  Of  the  Influx  nnc  e  Part  V. 

pends,  are  of  a  very  nice  and  delicate  nature,  and 
may  ealily  be  altered  by  habit  and  education  :  but 
the  fentiments  of  moral  approbation  and  difappro- 
bation,  are  founded  on  the  ftrongeft  and  mod  vigo- 
rous paffions  of  human  nature  •,  and  though  they 
may  be  fomewhat  warpt,  cannot  be  entirely  per- 
verted. 

But  though  the  influence  of  cuftom  and  faihion, 
upon  moral  fentiments,    is  not  altogether  fo  great, 
it  is  however  perfectly  fimilar    to  what  it  is  every 
where   elfe.      When   cuftom   and   faihion   coincide 
with  the  natural  principles  of  right  and  wrong,   they 
heighten  the  delicacy  of  our  fentiments,  and  increale 
our  abhorrence  for  every  thing  which  approaches  to 
evil.     Thofe  who    have    been  educated  in  what  is 
really  good   company,   not   in  what    is   commonly 
called  fuch,  who  have  been  accu domed  to  fee  no- 
thing in  the  perfons  whom  they  efteemed  and  lived 
with,    but  juftice,    modefty,    humanity,    and   good 
order  •,  are  more  Ihocked  with  whatever  feems  to  be 
inconflftent  with  the  rules  which  thofe  virtues   pre- 
fcribe.     Thofe,  on  the  contrary,   who  have  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  brought  up  amidft  violence,  licen- 
tioufnefs,  falfehood,  and  injuftice  •,  lofe,  though  not 
all  fenfe  of  the  impropriety  of  fuch  conduct,  yet  all 
fenfe  of  its  dreadful  enormity,  or  of  the  vengeance 
and  punifhment  due  to  it.     They  have  been  famili- 
arized with  it  from  their  infancy,  cuftom  has  ren- 
dered it  habitual  to  them,  and  they  are  very  apt  to 
regard  it  as,  what  is  called  the  way  of  the  world, 
fomething  which  either    may,    or   muft    be    prac- 
tifed,  to   hinder  us  from   being  the  dupes  of  our 
own  integrity.         '■ 

Faihion 


Chap.  II.  of  C  1/  s  t  o  m.  |«i 

Fafhion  too  will  fometimes  give  reputation   to  a 
certain  degree  of  diforder,  and  on  the  contrary  dif- 
countenance  qualities  which  deferve  efteem.     In  the 
reign  of  Charles  II.  a  degree  of  licentioufnefs  was 
deemed  the  characteristic  of  a  liberal  education.     It 
was  connected,   according  to   the   notions  of  thofe 
times,   with  generofity,    fincerity,  magnanimity,  loy- 
alty,  and  proved  that  the  perfon  who  acted  in  this 
manner,    was  a  gentleman,   and  not  a  puritan  ;  fe- 
verity  of  manners,  and   regularity  of  conduct,   on 
the  other  hand,    were  altogether  unfafhionable,    and 
were  connected,    in  the  imagination  of  that  age,  with 
cant,    cunning,  hypocrify,    and  low   manners.     To 
fuperficial  minds^   the  vices  of  the  great  feem  at  all 
times  agreeable.     They  connect  them*   not  only  with 
the  fplendour  of  fortune,  but  with  many  fuperiour 
virtues,   which  they  afcribe  to  their  fuperiors;  with 
the  fpirit  of  freedom  and  independency,  with  frankr 
nefs,    generofity,   humanity,  and    politenefs.      The 
virtues  of  the  inferior   ranks  of  people,  on  the  con- 
trary,   their  parfimonious  frugality,  their  painful- in- 
dustry,  and  rigid  adherence  to  rules,  feem  to  them 
mean  and  difagreeable.     They  connect  them,  both 
with  the  meannefs  of  the  Station  to  which  thofe  quali- 
ties commonly  belong,   and  with   many  great  vices, 
which,  they  fuppofe,  ufually  accompany  them  •,  fuch 
as  an  abject,   cowardly,  ill-natured,  lying,  pilfering 
difpofition. 

The  objects  with  which  men  in  the  different  pro- 
feflions  and  ftates  of  life  are  converfant,  being  very 
different,  and  habituating  them  to  very  different  paf- 
fions,  naturally  form  in  them  very  different  charac- 
ters and  manners.     We  expect  in  each  rank  and  pro- 

T  fefllon, 


274  Of  the   Influence  Part  V. 

fefiion,  a  degree  of  thofe  manners,  which,  experience 
has  taught  us,   belong  to  it.     But  as  in  each  fpecies 
of  things,  we  are  particularly  pleafed  with  the  middle 
conformation,  which  in  every  part  and  feature  agrees 
mod  exactly  with  the  general  ftandard  which  nature 
feems  to  have  eftablifhed  for  things  of  that  kind  •,  fo 
in  each  rank,   or,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  in  each  fpecies  of 
men,   we  are  particularly  pleafed,  if  they  have  nei- 
ther too  much,  nor  too  little  of  the  character  which 
ufually    accompanies   their  particular  condition  and 
fituation.      A  man,   we  fay,  fhouid   look  like   his 
trade  and  profeflion  ;   yet  the  pedantry  of  every  pro- 
feflion  is  difagreeable.     The  different  periods  of  life 
have,  for  the  fame  reafon,  different  manners  affigned 
to  them.     We  expect  in  old  age,  that  gravity  and 
fedatenefs  which  its  infirmities,  its  long  experience, 
and  its  worn-out  fenfibility  feem  to  render  both  natu- 
ral and  refpectable  ;   and  we  lay  our  account  to  find 
in  youth  that  fenfibility,  that  gaiety  and  fprightly  vi- 
vacity which  experience  teaches  us  to  expect:  from 
the  lively  impreffions  that  all  interefting  objects  are 
apt  to  make  upon  the  tender  and  unpractiied  fenfes 
of  that  early  period  of  life.     Each  of  thofe  two  ages, 
however,  may  eafily  have  too  much  of  thefe  peculi- 
arities which   belong  to  it.     The  flirting  levity  of 
youth,   and  the  immoveable  infenfibility  of  old  age, 
are  equally  difagreeable.     The  young,   according  to 
the  common  faying,    are    mofl  agreeable  when   in 
their  behaviour  there  is  fomething  of  the  manners  of 
the  old,  and  the  old,   when  they  retain  fomething  of 
the  gaiety  of  the  young.     Either  of  them,   however, 
may  eafily   have  too  much  of  the  manners  of  the 
other.     The  extreme  coldnefs,   and  dull  formality, 
which  are  pardoned  in  old  age,   make  youth  ridicu- 
lous.    The  levity,  the  carelefiheft,  and  the  vanity, 

which 


Chap.  I  J.  ^/Custom,  275 

which  are  indulged  in   youth,  render  old   age  con-» 
temptible. 

The  peculiar  character  and  manners  which  we  are 
led  by  cuftom  to  appropriate  to  each  rank  and  pro- 
feffion,-  have  fometimes  perhaps  a  propriety  indepen- 
dent of  cuftom  ;  and  are  what  we  mould  approve  of 
for  their  own  fakes,  if  we  took  into  confideration  all 
the  different  circumftances  which  naturally  affect 
thofe  in  each  different  ftate  of  life.  The  propriety 
of  a  perfon's  behaviour,  depends  not  upon  its  fuitable- 
nefs  to  any  one  circumftance  of  his  fituation,  but 
to  all  the  circumftances,  which,  when  we  bring  his 
cafe  home  to  ourfelves  we  feel,  fhould  naturally  call 
upon  his  attention.  If  he  appears  to  be  fo  much  oc- 
cupied by  any  one  of  them,  as  entirely  to  neglect  the 
reft,  we  difapprove  of  his  conduct,  as  fomething 
which  we  cannot  entirely  go  along  with,  becaufe  not 
properly  adjufted  to  all  the  circumftances  of  his  fitu- 
ation :  yet,  perhaps,  the  emotion  he  expreffes  for 
the  object  which  principally  interefts  him,  does  not 
exceed  what  we  fhould  entirely  fympathize.with,  and 
approve  of,  in  one  whole  attention  was  not  required 
by  any  other  thing.  A  parent  in  private  life  might, 
upon  the  lofs  of  an  only  fon,  exprefs  without  blame, 
a  degree  of  grief  and  tendernefs,  which  would  be  un- 
pardonable in  a  general  at  the  head  of  an  army,  when 
glory,  and  the  public  fafety  demanded  fo  great  a  part 
of  his  attention.  As  different  objects  ought,  upon 
common  occafions,  to  occupy  the  attention  of  men 
of  different  profefTions,  fo  different  pa/lions  ought, 
naturally  to  become  habitual  to  them ;  and  when  we 
bring  home  to  ourfelves  their  fituation  in  this  parti- 
cular refpect,  we  muft  be  fenfible,  that  every  occur- 
rence fhould  naturally  affect  them  more  or  lefs,  ac- 
T  2.  cording 


276  Of  the  Influence  Part  V,. 

cording  as  the  emotion  which  it  excites,  coincides  or 
difagrees  with  the  fixt  habit  and  temper  of  their 
minds.  We  cannot  expect  the  fame  fenfibility  to  the 
gay  pleafures  and  amufements  of  life  in  a  clergyman 
which  we  lay  our  account  with  in  an  officer.  The 
man  whofe  peculiar  occupation  it  is  to  keep  the 
world  in  mind  of  that  awful  futurity  which  awaits 
them,  who  is  to  announce  what  may  be  the  fatal  con- 
fe-quences  of  every  deviation  from  the  rules  of  duty, 
and  who  is  himfelf  to  fet  the  example  of  the  moft 
exact  conformity,  feems  to  be  the  mefTenger  of  ti- 
dings, which  cannot,  in  propriety,  be  delivered  either 
with  levity  or  indifference.  His  mind  is  fuppofed  to 
be  continually  occupied  with  what  is  too  grand  and 
folemn,  to  leave  any  room  for  the  impreflions  of 
thofe  frivolous  objects,  which  fill  up  the  attention 
of  the  diffipated  and  the  gay.  We  readily  feel  there- 
fore, that,  independent  of  cuftom,  there  is  a  propri- 
ety in  the  manners  which  cuftom  has  allotted  to  this 
profeiTion  ;  and  that  nothing  can  be  more  fuitable  to 
the  character  of  a  clergyman,  than  that  grave,  that 
auftere  and  abftracted  feverity,  which  we  are  habitu- 
ated to  expect  in  his  behaviour.  Thefe  reflections 
are  fo  very  obvious,  that  there  is  fcarce  any  man  lb 
inconfiderate,  as  not,  at  fome  time,  to  have  made 
them,  and  to  have  accounted  to  himfelf  in  this  man- 
ner for  his  approbation  of  the  ufual  character  of 
this  order. 

The  foundation  of  the  cuftom  ary  character  of 
fome  other  profeiTions  is  not  fo*  obvious,  and  our  ap- 
probation of  it  is  founded  entirely  in  habit,  without 
being  either  confirmed,  or  enlivened  by  any  reflections 
of  this  kind.  We  are  led  by  cuftom,  for  example, 
to  annex  the  character  of  gaiety,  levity,  and  fprighdy 

freedom, 


Chap.  II.  ^/Custom,  277 

freedom,  as  well  as  of  fome  degree  of  diffipation,  to 
the  military  profeffion  :  yet,  if  we  were  to  confider 
what  mood  or  tone  of  temper  would  be  moft  fuita- 
ble  to  this  fituation,  we  mould  be  apt  to  determine, 
perhaps,  that  the  mod  ferious  and  thoughtful  turn  of 
mind,  would  bed  become  thole  whofe  lives  are  con- 
tinually expofed  to  uncommon  danger-,  and  who 
fhould  therefore  be  more  conftantly  occupied  with 
the  thoughts  of  death  and  its  confequences  than  other 
men.  It  is  this  very  circumftance,  however,  which 
is  not  improbably  the  occafion  why  the  contrary  turn 
of  mind  prevails  fo  much  among  men  of  this  pro- 
feiFion.  It  requires  fo  great  an  effort  to  conquer  the 
^fear  of  death,  when  we  furvey  it  with  (leadinefs  and 
attention,  that  thofe  who  are  conftantly  expofed  to  it, 
find  it  eafier  to  turn  away  their  thoughts  from  it  al- 
together, to  wrap  themfelves  up  in  carelefs  fecurity 
and  indifference,  and  to  plunge  themfelves,  for  this 
purpoie,  into  every  fort  of  amufcment  and  diffipa- 
tion. A  camp  is  not  the  element  of  a  thoughtful 
or  a  melancholy  man  :  perfons  of  that  cad,  indeed, 
are  often  abundantly  determined,  and  are  capable, 
by  a  great  effort,  of  going  on  with  inflexible  refolu- 
tion  to  the  moft  unavoidable  death.  But  to  be  ex- 
pofed to  continual,  though  lefs  imminent  danger,  to 
be  obliged  to  exert,  for  a  long  time,  a  degree  of  this 
effort,  exhaufts  and  depreffes  the  mind,  and  renders 
it  incapable  of  all  happinefs  and  enjoyment.  The 
gay  and  carelefs,  who  have  occafion  to  make  no  ef- 
fort at  all,  who  fairly  refolve  never  to  look  before 
them,  but  to  lofe  in  continual  pleafures  and  amufe- 
ments,  all  anxiety  about  their  fituation,  more  eaflly 
fnpport  fuch  circumftances.  Whenever,  by  any 
peculiar  circumftances,  an  officer  has  no  reafon  to 
lay  his  account  with  being  expofed  to  any  unc'om- 
T  3  mon 


2j8  Of  the  Influence  Part  V. 

mon  danger,  he  is  very  apt  to  lofe  the  gaiety  and  dif- 
iipated  thoughtlefsnefs  of  his  character.  The  cap- 
tain of  a  city  guard  is  commonly  as  fober,  careful, 
and  penurious  an  animal  as  the  reft  of  his  fellow- citi- 
zens. A  long  peace  is,  for  the  fame  reafon,  very  apt 
to  diminifh  the  difference  between  the  civil  and  the 
military  character.  The  ordinary  fituation,  howe- 
ver, of  men  of  this  profeflion,  renders  gaiety,  and  a 
degree  of  diflipation,  fo  much  their  ufual  character ; 
and  cuitom  has,  in  our  imagination,  fo  (trongly  con- 
nected this  character  with  this  ftate  of  life,  that  we 
are  very  apt  to  defpife  any  man,  whofe  peculiar  hu- 
mour or  fituation,  renders  him  incapable  of  acquiring 
it.  We  laugh  at  the  grave  and  careful  faces  of  a  city 
guard,  which,  fo  little  refemble  thofe  of  their  profef- 
fion.  They  themfelves  feem  often  to  be  afhamed  of 
the  regularity  of  their  own  manners,  and,  not  to  be 
out  of  the  fafhion  of  their  trade,  are  fond  of  affecting 
that  levity,  which  is  by  no  means  natural  to  them. 
Whatever  is  the  deportment  which  we  have  been  ac- 
cuftomed  to  fee  in  a  refpectable  order  of  men,  it 
comes  to  be  fo  affociated  in  our  imagination  with  that 
order,  that  whenever  we  fee  the  one,  we  lay  our  ac- 
count that  we  are  to  meet  with  the  other,  and  when 
difappointed,  mifs  fomething  which  we  expected  to 
find.  We  are  embarraffed,  and  put  to  a  (land,  and 
know  not  how  to  addrefs  ourfelves  to  a  character, 
which  plainly  affects  to  be  of  a  different  fpecies 
from  thofe  with  which  we  mould  have  been  difpofed 
to  clafs  it.    . 

The    different   fituations   of  different    ages  and 
countries,  are  apt,  in  the  fame  manner,  to  give  dif- 
ferent characters  to  the  generality  of  thofe  who  live 
in  them,  and  their  fentiments  concerning  the  parti- 
cular 


Chap.  II.  cf  C  u  s  t  o  m.  279 

cular  degree  of  each  quality,  that  is  either  blameable, 
or  praife-worthy,  vary  according  to  that  degree, 
which  is  ufual  in  their  own  country,  and  in  their 
own  times.  That  degree  of  politenefs,  which  would 
be  highly  efteerned,  perhaps,  would  be  thought  ef- 
feminate adulation,  in  Rufiia,  would  be  regarded  as 
rudenefs  and  barbarifm  at  the  court  of  France. 
That  degree  of  order  and  frugality,  which,  in  a 
Polifh  nobleman,  would  be  confidered  as  cxceflive 
parfimony,  would  be  regarded  as  extravagance  in  a 
citizen  of  Amfterdam.  Every  age  and  country  look 
upon  that  degree  of  each  quality,  which  is  commonly 
to  be  met  with  in  thofe  who  are  efteerned  among 
themfelves,  as  the  golden  mean  of  that  particular 
talent  or  virtue.  And  as  this  varies,  according  as 
their  different  circumftances  render  different  qualities 
more  or  lefs  habitual  to  them,  their  fentirnents  con- 
cerning the  exact  propriety  of  character  and  behavi- 
our vary  accordingly. 

Among  civilized  nations,  the  virtues  which  are 
founded  upon  humanity,  are  more  cultivated  than 
thofe  which  are  founded  upon  felf-denial  and  the 
command  of  the  paffions.  Among  rude  and  bar- 
barous nations,  it  is  quite  otherwife,  the  virtues  of 
felf-denial  are  more  cultivated  than  thofe  of  huma- 
nity. The  general  fecurity  and  happinefs  which 
prevail  in  ages  of  civility  and  politenefs  afford  little 
exercife  to  the  contempt  of  danger,  to  patience  in 
enduring  labour,  hunger,  and  pain.  Poverty  may 
eafily  be  avoided,  and  the  contempt  of  it  therefore^" 
almoft  ceafes  to  be  a  virtue.  The  abflinence  from 
pleafure,  becomes  lefs  neceffary,  and  the  mind 
is  more  at  liberty  to  unbend   itfelf,  and  to  indulge 

T  4  its 


zSo  Of  the  Influence.  Part  V, 

its   natural   inclinations   in   all  thofe  particular   re- 
aped s. 

Among  favages  and  barbarians  it  is  quite  other- 
wife.  Every  favage  undergoes  a  fort  of  Spartan 
difcipline,  and  by  the  neceffity  of  his  fituation  is  in- 
ured to  every  fort  of  hardfhip.  He  is  in  continual 
danger :  He  is  often  expofed  to  the  greateft  extremi- 
ties of  hunger,  and  frequently  dies  of  pure  want. 
His  circumftances  not  only  habituate  him, to  every 
fort  of  diftrefs,  but  teach  him  to  give  way  to  none  of 
the  paffions  which  that  diftrefs  is  apt  to  excite.  He 
can  expect  from  his  countrymen  no  fympathy  or  in- 
dulgence for  fuch  weaknefs.  Before  we  can  feel 
much  for  others,  we  mud  in  fome  meafure  be  at 
eafe  ourfelves.  If  our  own  mifery  pinches  us  very 
feverely,  we  have  no  leifure  to  attend  to  that  of  our 
neighbour :  And  all  favages  are  too  much  occupied 
with  their  own  wants  and  neceffities,  to  give  much 
attention  to  thofe  of  another  perfon.  A  favage, 
therefore,  whatever  be  the  nature  of  his  diftrefs,  ex- 
peels  no  fympathy  from  thofe  about  him,  and  dif- 
clains,  upon  that  account,  to  expofe  himfelf,  by  slU 
lowing  the  leaft  weaknefs  to  efcape  him.  His  paf- 
fions, how  furious  and  violent  foe^er,  are  never  per- 
mitted to  difturb  the  ferenity  of  his  countenance  or 
the  compofure  of  his  conduct  and  behaviour.  The 
favages  in  North  America,  we  are  told,  alTume  upon 
all  occafions  the  greateft  indifference,  and  would 
think  themfelves  degraded  if  they  fliould  ever  ap- 
pear in  any  refpecl:  to  be  overcome,  either  by  love, 
or  grief,  or  refentment.  Their  magnanimity  and 
fdf-command,  in  tfris  refpecl:,  are  almoft  beyond  the 
conception  of  Europeans.  In  a  country  in  which, 
dl  men  are  upon  >  level,  with  regard  to  rank  and 

fortune 


Chap.  II.  of  C  U  S  T  o  m.  281 

fortune,  it  might  be  expected  that  the  mutual  incli- 
nations of  the  two  parties  fhould  be  the  only  thing 
confidered    in    marriages,   and   fhould    be    indulged 
without  any  fort  of  controul.     This,  however,  is  the 
country  in  which   all   marriages,  without  exception, 
are  made  up  by   the  parents,   and  in    which  a  young 
man  would    think  himfelf  difgraced   for  ever,  if  he 
fhewed  the  lead  preference  of  one  woman  above  an- 
other, or  did  not  exprels   the  mod  complete  indiffer- 
ence, both   about  the  time  when,  and  the  perfon  to 
whom  he  was  to  be  married.    The  weaknefs  of  love, 
which  is  fo  much  indulged  in  ages  of  humanity  and 
politenefs,  is  regarded  among  favages  as  the  moft  un- 
pardonable effeminacy.    Even  after  the  marriage  the 
two  parties  feem  to  be  afhamed  of  a  connexion  which 
is  founded  upon  fo  fordid  a  neceflity.     They  do  not 
live  together.     They  fee  one  another  by  Health  only. 
They  both  continue  to  dwell  in  the  houfes  of  their  re- 
ipective   fathers,  and  the  open   cohabitation  of  the 
two  fexes,  which  is  permitted  without  blame  in  all 
other  countries,   is  here  confidered  as  the  moft  inde- 
cent and    unmanly  fenfuality.     Nor  is   it  only  over 
this    agreeable    paflion  that  they   exert  this  abfolute 
felf-command.     They  often  bear  in  the  fight  of  all 
their  countrymen   with    injuries,  reproach,   and  the 
groflfeft  infults  with  the  appearance  of  the  greatett  in- 
fenfibility,    and    without  exprefTing   the  fmalleft  re- 
fentment.     "When  a  favage  is  made  prifoner  of  war, 
and  receives,  as  is  ufual,  the  fentence  of  death  from 
his   conquerors,  he  hears  it   without  exprefTing  any 
emotion,  and  afterwards  fubmits  to  the  moft  dread- 
ful torments,    without  ever    bemoaning  himfelf,  or 
difcovering  any   other  paflion   but  contempt  of  his 
enemies.     While  he  is  hung  by  the  moulders  over  a 
flow  fire,  he   derides  his  tormentors,  and  tells  them 

with 


2%z  Of  the  I  n  f  l  u  e  n  c  e     -        Part  V* 

with  how  much  more  ingenuity,  he  himfelf  had  tor- 
mented fuch  of  their  countrymen  as  had  fallen  into 
his  hands.     After  he  has  been  fcorched  and  burnt, 
and  lacerated  in  all  the  moft  tender  and  fenftble  parts 
of  his  body  for  feveral  hours  together,  he  is  often  al- 
lowed, in  order  to  prolong  his  miiery,  a  ftiort  refpite, 
and  is  taken  down  from  the  (lake  :  he  employs  this 
interval  in  talking  upon  all  indifferent  fubjects,  in- 
quires after  the  news  of  the  country,  and  feems  in- 
different about  nothing  but  his  own  fituation.     The 
fpeclators  exprefs  the  fame  infenfibility ;  the  fight  of 
fo  horrible   an  object  feems  to  make  no  impreffion 
upon  them  •,  they  fcarce  look  at  the  prifoner,  except 
when  they  lend  a   hand  to  torment  him.     At  other 
times    they  fmoke   tobacco,   and  amufe  themfelves 
with  any   common  object,  as  if  no  fuch  matter  was 
going  on.     Every   favage  is  faid  to  prepare  himfelf 
from  his  earlieft   youth   for  this  dreadful  end.     He 
compofes,  for  this  purpofe,  what  they  call  the  fong  of 
death,  a  fong  which  he  is  to  fmg  when  he  has  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  and  is  expiring  under 
the  tortures  which  they  inflict  upon  him.     It  confifts 
of  infults   upon   his    tormentors,   and  expreffes   the 
higher!;  contempt  of  death  and  pain.     He  fings  this 
fong  upon  all  extraordinary  occafions,  when  he  goes 
out  to  war,  when  he  meets  his  enemies  in  the  field, 
or  whenever  he  has  a  mind  to  mow  that  he  has  farni- 
liarifed  his  imagination  to  the  mod  dreadful  misfor- 
tunes, and  that  no  human  event  can  daunt  his  refo- 
lution,  or  alter,  his  purpofe.     The  fame  contempt  of 
death  and  torture  prevails  among  all  other  favage  na- 
tions.   There  is  not  a  negro  from  the  coaft  of  Africa 
who  does   nor,  in    this  refpedl,  poffefs   a  degree  of 
magnanimity   which^he  foul  of  his  fordid  matter  is 

too 


Chap.  II.  ^/Custom.  283 

too  often  fcarce  capable  of  conceiving.  Fortune 
never  exerted  more  cruelly  her  empire  over  mankind, 
than  when  fhe  fubjedted  thofe  nations  of  heroes  to 
the  refufe  of  the  jails  of  Europe,  to  wretches  who 
ponefs  the  virtues  neither  of  the  countries  which 
they  come  from,"  nor  of  thofe  which  they  go  to,  and 
whofe  levity,  brutality,  and  bafenefs,  fo  juftly  expofe 
them  to  the  contempt  of  the  vanquifhed. 

This  heroic  and  unconquerable  firmnefs,   which 
the  cuftom  and  education  of  his  country  demand  of 
every  lavage,  is  not  required  of  thole  who  are  brought 
up  to  live  in  civilized  focieties.    If  thefe  laft  complain 
when  they  are  in  pain,  if  they  grieve  when  they  are 
in  diftrefs,  if  they   allow  themfelves   either   to  be 
overcome  by  love,  or  to  be  difcompofed  by  anger, 
they  are  eafily  pardoned.     Such  weakneffes  are  not 
apprehended  to  afFecl:  theefTential  parts  of  their  cha- 
racter.    As  long  as  they  do  not  allow  themfelves  to 
be  tranfported  to  do  any  thing  contrary  to  juftice  or 
humanity,  they  lofe  but  little  reputation,  though  the 
ierenity   of  their   countenance  or  the  compofure  of 
their  difcourfe   and    behaviour  mould  be  lbmewhat 
ruffled  and  diflurbed.     A  humane  and  polifhed  peo- 
ple, who   have  more  fenfibility  to    the  paflions  of 
others,  can  more  readily  enter  into  an  animated  and 
pafiionate   behaviour,  and  can  more  eafily  pardon 
ibme  little  excels.    The  perfon  principally  concerned 
is  fenfible  of  this ;  and  being  allured  of  the  equity 
of  his  judges,  indulges  himfelf  in  ftronger  expreffions 
of  paffion,  and   is  lefs  afraid  of  expofing  himfelf  to 
their  contempt  by  the  violence  of  his  emotions.    We 
can  venture  ro  exprefs  more  emotion  in  the  prefence 
of  a  friend  than  in  that  of  a  ftranger,  becaufe  we  ex- 
peel:  more  indulgence  from  the  one  than  from  the 

other. 


284  Of  the  1  n  f  l  u  e  n  c  e      -        Part  V. 

other.  And  in  the  fame  manner  the  rules  of  decorum 
among  civilized  nations,  admit  of  a  more  animated 
behaviour,  than  is  approved  of  among  barbarians. 
The  firft  converle  together  with  the  opennefs  of 
friends ;  the  fecond  with  the  referve  of  ftrangers. 
The  emotion  and  vivacity  with  which  the  French 
and  the  Italians,  the  two  moft  polifhed  nations  upon 
the  continent,  exprefs  themfelves  on  occafions  that 
are  at  all  interefting,  furprife  at  firft  thofe  ftrangers 
who  happen  to  be  travelling  among  them,  and  who, 
having  been  educated  among  a  people  of  duller  fenfi- 
bility,  cannot  enter  into  this  pafFionate  behaviour, 
of  which  they  have  never  feen  any  example  in  their 
own  country.  A  young  French  nobleman  will  weep 
in  the  preience  of  the  whole  court  upon  being  refufed 
a  regiment.  An  Italian,  fays  the  abbot  Du  Bos,  ex- 
prefies  more  emotion  on  being  condemned  in  a  fine 
of  twenty  (hillings,  than  an  Englishman  on  receiving 
the  fentence  of  death.  Cicero,  in  the  times  of  the 
highcft  Roman  politenefs,  could,  without  degrading 
himfelf,  weep  with  all  the  bitternefs  of  lbrrow  in  the 
fight  of  the  whole  fenate  and  the  whole  people ;  as 
it  is  evident  he  muft  have  done  in  the  end  of  almoft 
every  oration.  The  orators  of  the  earlier  and  ruder 
ages  of  Rome  could  not  probably,  confilient  with 
the  manners  of  the  times,  have  expreffcd  themfelves 
with  fo  much  emotion.  It  would  have  been  re- 
garded, I  iuppofe,  as  a  violation  of  nature  and  pro- 
priety in  the  Scipios.  in  the  Leliufes,  and  in  the  el- 
der Cato,  to  have  expofed  lb  much  tenderneis  to  the 
view  of  the  public.  Thofe  ancient  warriors  could 
exprefs  themfelves,  with  order,  gravity,  and  good 
judgment  •,  but  are  laid  to  have  been  ftrangers  to 
that  iubiimeand  palli-Qnate  eloquence  which  was  firft 
introduced   into  Rome,  not  many  years  before  the 

birth 


Chap.  II.  of  C  u  s  t  o  m.  2§^ 

birth  of  Cicero,  by  the  two  Gracchi,  by  Craflus,  and 
by  Sulpitius.  This  animated  eloquence,  which  has 
been  long  praclifed,  with  or  without  fuccefs,  both  in 
France  and  Italy,  is  but  juft  beginning  to  be  intro- 
duced into  England.  So  wide  is  the  difference  be- 
tween the  degrees  of  felf-command  which  are  re- 
quired in  civilized  and  in  barbarous  nations,  and  by 
iuch  different  ftandards  do  they  judge  of  the  pro- 
priety of  behaviour. 

This  difference  gives  occafion  to  many  others  that 
are   not  lefs  effential.     A  polifhed  people  being  ac- 
cu domed  to  give  way,  in  fome  mealure,  to  the  move- 
ments of  nature,  become  frank,  open,  and  fincere, 
Barbarians,  on  the  contrary,  being  obliged   to   fmo- 
ther   and   conceal  the    appearance  of  every  paflion, 
neceffarily    acquire  the    habits  of  falfehood  and  dif- 
fimulation.     It   is  oblerved   by  all   thofe  who  have 
been    converfant  with    favage    nations,    whether   in 
Afia,  Africa,  or  America,  that  they  are  all  equally 
impenetrable,    and   that,  when    they  have  a  mind  to 
conceal   the    truth,    no  examination    is    capable^  of 
drawing  it  from  them.     They  cannot  be  trepanned 
by  the  mod  artful  queftions.     The  torture  itfelf  is 
incapable  of  making    them  confefs  any  thing  which 
they   have  no  mind  to  tell.     The  paffions  of  a  fa- 
vage too,  though  they  never  exprefs  themfelves  by 
any  outward  emotion,   but  lie  concealed  in  the  breafl: 
of  the  fufferer,   are,  notwithftanding,  all  mounted  to 
the  highelt  pitch  of  fury.     Though  he  fcrldom  fhows 
any  fymptoms  of  anger,   yet  his  vengeance,  when  he 
comes  to  give  way  to  it,   is  always   ianguinary  and 
dreadful.     The   lead:  affront  drives  him  to  defpair. 
His  countenance  and   difcourfe  indeed  are   ftill  fober 
and  comoofed,  and  exprefs  nothing  but  the  mod:  per- 

fedt 


286  Of  the  1  n  f  l  u  e  n  c  e  Part  V, 

feet  tranquillity  of  mind:  But  his  actions  are  often 
the  mod  furious  and  violent.  Among  the  North- 
Americans  it  is  not  uncommon  for  perfons  of  the 
tenderer!  age  and  more  fearful  fex  to  drown  them- 
felves  upon  receiving  only  a  flight  reprimand  from 
their  mothers,  and  this  too  without  exprefling  any 
pafTions  or  faying  any  thing,  except,  youjhallno  Ion- 
ger  have  a  daughter.  In  civilized  nations  the  paf- 
fions  of  men  are  not  commonly  fo  furious  or  fo  def- 
perate.  They  are  often  clamorous  and  noify,  but 
are  feldom  very  hurtful  j  and  feem  frequently  to  aim 
at  no  other  fatisfaction,  but  that  of  convincing  the 
fpectator,  that  they  are  in  the  right  to  be  fo  much 
moved,  and  of  procuring  his  fympathy  and  appro- 
bation. 

All  thefe  effects  of  cuftom  and  fafhion,  however, 
upon  the  moral  fentiments  of  mankind,  are  inconfi- 
derable  in  comparifon  of  thofe  which  they  give  occa- 
fion  to  in  fome  other  cafes  ;  and  it  is  not  concerning 
the  general  ftyle  of  character  and  behaviour,  that 
thofe  principles  produce  the  greater!  perverfion  of 
judgment,  but  concerning  the  propriety  or  impro- 
priety of  particular  ufages. 

The  different  manners  which  cuftom  teaches  us  to 
approve  of  in  the  different  profeilions  and  ftates  of 
life,  do  not  concern  things  of  the  greateft  importance. 
We  expect  truth  and  juftice  from  an  old  man  as  well 
as  from  a  young,  from  a  clergyman  as  well  as  from 
an  officer  •,  and  it  is  in  matters  of  fmall  moment  only 
that  we  look  for  the  diftinguifhing  marks  of  their  re- 
fpective  characters.  With  regard  to  thefe  too,  there 
is  often  fome  unobferved  circumftance  which,  if  it 
was  attended  to,  woultl  fhow  us,  that,  independent 

of 


Chap.  II.  ^/Custom.  287 

of  cuftom,  there  was  a  propriety  in  the  character 
which  cuftom  had  taught  us  to  allot  to  each  profef- 
fion.  We  cannot  complain,  therefore,  in  this  cafe, 
that  the  perverfion  of  natural  fentiment  is  very  great. 
Though  the  manners  of  different  nations  require  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  the  fame  quality,  in  the  character 
which  they  think  worthy  of  efteem,  yet  the  word 
that  can  be  faid  to  happen  even  here,  is  that  the  du- 
ties of  one  virtue  are  fometimes  extended  fo  as  to  en- 
croach a  little  upon  the  precincts  of  fome  other. 
The  ruftic  hofpitality  that  is  in  fafhion  among  the 
Poles  encroaches,  perhaps,  a  little  upon  ceconomy 
and  good  order ;  and  the  frugality  that  is  efteemed 
in  Holland,  upon  generofity  and  good-fellowfhip. 
The  hardinefs  demanded  of  favages  diminifhes  their 
humanity  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  delicate  fenfibility  re- 
quired in  civilized  nations  fometimes  deftroys  the 
mafculine  firmnefs  of  the  character.  In  general,  the 
ftyle  of  manners  which  takes  place  in  any  nation, 
may  commonly  upon  the  whole  be  faid  to  be  that 
which  is  mod  fuitable  to  its  fuuation.  Hardinefs  is 
the  character  mo/t  fuitable  to  the  circumftances  of  a 
favage  -,  fenfibility  to  thofe  of  one  who  lives  in  a  very 
civilized  focie/y.  Even  here,  therefore,  we  cannot 
complain  that  the  moral  fentiments  of  men  are  very 
grofsly  perverted. 

It  is  not  therefore  in  the  general  ftyle  of  conduct 
or  behaviour  that  cuftom  authorizes  the  wideft  depar- 
ture from  what  is  the  natural  propriety  of  action. 
With  regard  to  particular  ufages  its  influence  is  often 
much  more  deftructive  of  good  morals,  and  it  is  ca- 
pable of  eftabliftiing,  as  lawful  and  blamelefs,  par- 
ticular actions,  which  (hock   the  plained  principles 

of  right  and  wrong. 

Can 


288  0//^Inflvence  Part  V. 

Can  there  be  greater  barbarity,  for  example,  than 
to  hurt  an  infant?  Its  helpleflhefs,  its  innocence, 
its  amiablenefs,  call  forth  the  compaflion  even  of 
an  enemy,  and  not  to  fpare  that  tender  age  is  re- 
garded as  the  molt  furious  effort  of  an  enraged  and 
cruel  conqueror.  What  then  mould  we  imagine 
mull  be  the  heart  of  a  parent  who  could  injure  that 
weaknefs  which  even  a  furious  enemy  is  afraid  to  vio- 
late ?  Yet  the  expofition,  that  is,  the  murder  of  new- 
born infants,  was  a  practice  allowed  of  in  almoft  all 
the  dates  of  Greece,  even  among  the  polite  and  civi- 
lized Athenians-,  and  whenever  the  circurnftances 
of  the  parent  rendered  it  inconvenient  to  bring  up  the 
child,  to  abandon  it  to  hunger,  or  to  wild  beads, 
was  regarded  without  blame  or  cenfure.  This  prac- 
tice had  probably  begun  in  times  of  the  mod  favage 
barbarity.  The  imaginations  of  men  had  been  fir  ft 
made  familiar  with  it  in  that  earlieft  period  of  focie- 
ty,  and  the  uniform  continuance  of  the  cuftom  had 
hindered  them  afterwards  from  perceiving  its  enor- 
mity. We  find,  at  this  day,  that  this  practice  pre- 
vails among;  all  favage  nations :  and  in  that  rtideft 
and  lowed  date  of  fociety  it  is  undoubtedly  more 
pardonable  than  in  any  other.  The  extreme  indi- 
gence of  a  favage  is  often  fuch  that  he  himfelf  is  fre- 
quently expofed  to  the  greated  extremity  of  hunger, 
he  often  dies  of  pure  want,  and  it  is  frequently  im- 
poflible  for  him  to  fupport  both  himfelf  and  his 
child.  We  cannot  wonder,  therefore,  that  in  this 
cafe  he  mould*  abandon  it.  One  who  in  flying  from 
an.  enemy,  whom  it  was  impoflible  torefift,  fliould' 
throw  down  his  infant,  becaufe  it  retarded  his  flight, 
would  furely  be  excufeable  ;  fince,  by  attempting  to 
fave   it,  he  could  orTiy  hope  for    the  confolation  of 

dying 


Chap.  lJ.  of  C  u  s  t  o  m.  289 

dying  with  it.  That  in  this  ftate  of  fociety,  there- 
fore, a  parent  fhould  be  allowed  to  judge  whether  he 
can  bring  up  his  child,  ought  not  to  furprife  us  fo 
greatly.  In  the  latter  ages  of  Greece,  however,  the 
fame  thing  was  permitted  from  views  of  remote  in- 
tereft  or  conveniency,  which  could  by  no  means  ex- 
cufe  it.  Uninterrupted  cuftom  had  by  this  time  fo 
thoroughly  authorized  the  practice,  that  not  only  the 
loofe  maxims  of  the  world  tolerated  this  barbarous 
prerogative,  but  even  the  doctrine  of  philofophers, 
which  ought  to  have  been  more  juft  and  accurate, 
was  led  away  by  the  eftabiifried  cuftom,  and  upon 
this,  as  upon  many  other  occafions,  inftead  of 
cenfuring,  Supported  the  horrible  abufe,  by  far- 
fetched confederations  of  public  utility.  Ariftotle 
talks  of  it  as  of  what  the  magistrate  ought  upon 
many  occafions  to  encourage.  The  humane  Plato 
is  of  the  fame  opinion,  and,  with  all  that  love 
of  mankind  which  feems  to  animate  all  his  writ- 
ings, no  where  marks  this  practice  with  difappro- 
bation.  When  cuftom  can  give  fanction  to  fo  dread- 
ful a  violation  of  humanity,  we  may  well  imagine 
that  there  is  fcarce  any  particular  practice  fo  grofs 
which  it  cannot  authorize.  Such  a  thing,  we  hear 
men  every  day  faying,  is  commonly  done,  and  they 
feem  to  think  this  a  fufficient  apology  for  what, 
in  itfelf,  is  the  molt  unjuft  and  unreasonable  con- 
dud. 

There  is  an  obvious  reafon  why  cuftom  mould 
never  pervert  our  fentiments  with  regard  to  the 
general  ftyle  and  character  of  conduct  and  behavi- 
our, in  the  fame  degree  as  with  regard  to  the  pro- 
priety, or  unlawfulnefs  of  particular  ufages.     There 

U  never 


290  Of  the  Influence,  &c.     Part  V. 

never  can  be  any  fuch  cuftom.  No  fociety  could 
fubfift  a  moment,  in  which  the  ufual  drain  of  mens 
conduct  and  behaviour  was  of  a  piece  with  the  hor- 
rible practice  I  juft  now  mentioned. 


ttNy-^HMPP 


1 


PART 


PART     VI. 

Of  Syftems   of  Moral  Philosophy. 

CONSISTING  OF  FOUR  SECTIONS. 

SECTION      I. 

Of  the  queftions  which  ought  to  be  examined  in  a 
theory  of  moral  fentiments. 

IF  we  examine  the  moft  celebrated  and  remarka- 
ble of  the  different  theories  which  have  been  given 
concerning  the  nature  and  origin  of  our  moral  fenti- 
ments, we  fnall  find  that  almoft  all  of  them  coincide 
with  fome  part  or  other  of  that  which  I  have  been 
endeavouring  to  give  an  account  of;  and  that  if 
every  thing  which  has  already  been  faid  be  fully  con- 
fidered,  we  fhall  be  at  no  lofs  to  explain  what  was 
the  view  or  afpect  of  nature  which  led  each  particu- 
lar author  to  form  his  particular  fyftem.  From  fome 
one  or  other  of  thofe  principles  which  I  have  been 
endeavouring  to  unfold,  every  fyftem  of  morality 
that  ever  had  any  reputation  in  the  world  has,  per- 
haps, ultimately  been  derived.  As  they  are  all  of 
them,  in  this  refpecl,  founded  upon  natural  princi- 
ples, they  are  all  of  them  in  fome  meafure  in  the 
right.     But  as  many  of  them  are  derived  from  a  par- 

U  %  tiai 


292  O/Systems  Part  VL 

tial  and  imperfect  view  of  nature,  there  are  many  of 
them  too  in  fome  refpects  in  the  wrong. 

In  treating  of  the  principles  of  morals  there  are 
two  queftions  to  be  confidered.  Firft,  wherein  does 
virtue  confift  ?  Or  what  is  the  tone  of  temper,  and 
tenour  of  conduct,  which  constitutes  the  excellent 
and  praife-worthy  character,  the  character  which  is 
the  natural  object  of  efteem,  honour,  and  approba- 
tion ?  and  fecondly,  by  what  power  or  faculty  in  the 
mind  is  it,  that  this  character,  whatever  it  be,  is  re- 
commended to  us  ?  Or  in  other  words,  how  and  by 
what  means  does  it  come  to  pafs,  that  the  mind 
prefers  one  tenour  of  conduct  to  another,  denomi- 
nates the  one  right  and  the  other  wrong  ;  confiders 
the  one  as  the  object  of  approbation,  honour,  and 
reward,  and  the  other  of  blame,  cenfure,  and  pu- 
nifhment  ? 

"We  examine  the  firft  queftion  when  we  confider 
whether  virtue  confifts  in  benevolence,  as  Dr.  Hutche- 
fon  imagines  ;  or  in  acting  iuitably  to  the  different 
relations  we  ftand  in,  as  Dr.  Clarke  fuppofes  ;  or  in 
the  wife  and  prudent  purfuit  of  our  own  real  and  fo- 
lid  happinefs,  as  has  been  the  opinion  of  others. 

We  examine  the  fecond  queftion,  when  we  con- 
fider, whether  the  virtuous  character,  whatever  it 
confifts  in,  be  recommended  to  us  by  felf-love, 
which  makes  us  perceive  that  this  character,  both  in 
ourfelves  and  others,  tends  mod  to  promote  our  own 
private  intereft  ;  or  by  reafon,  which  points  out  to  us 
the  difference  between  one  character  and  another,  in 
the  fame  manner  as  it  does  that  between  truth  and 
falfehoodj  or   by^ii  peculiar  power  of  perception, 

called 


Sed.  I.        <?/  Moral  Philosophy.  293 

called  a  moral  fenfe,  which  this  virtuous  character 
gratifies  and  pleafes,  as  the  contrary  difgufts  and 
difpleafes  it ;  or  laft  of  all,  by  fome  other  principle 
in  human  nature,  fuch  as  a  modification  of  fympa- 
thy,  or  the  like. 

I  fhall  begin  with  confidering  the  fyflems  which 
have  been  formed  concerning  the  firft  of  thefe  ques- 
tions, and  fhall  proceed  afterwards  to  examine  thofe 
concerning  the  fecond. 


j.4.  i 


U  2  SEC- 


294  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI 


SECTION      II. 


Of  the  different   accounts  which  have  been  given 
of  the  nature  of  virtue. 


INTRODUCTION, 


T, 


H  E  different  accounts  which  have  been  given 
of  the  nature  of  virtue,  or  of  the  temper  of  mind 
which  conftitutes  the  excellent  and  praife-worthy 
character,  may  be  reduced  to  three  different  claffes. 
According  to  fome,  the  virtuous  temper  of  mind 
does  not  confift  in  any  one  fpecies  of  affections,  but 
in  the  proper  government  and  direction  of  all  our  af- 
fections, which  may  be  either  virtuous  or  vicious  ac- 
cording to  the  objects  which  they  purfue,  and  the 
degree  of  vehemence  with  which  they  purfue  them. 
According  to  thefe  authors,  therefore,  virtue  con- 
fifts in  propriety. 

According  to  others,  virtue  confifts  in  the  judici- 
ous purfuit  of  our  own  private  jntereft  and  happi- 
neis,  or  in  the  proper  government  and  direction  of 
thofe  felfifh  affections  which  aim  folely  at  this  end. 
In  the  opinion  of  thefe  authors,  therefore,  virtue 
confifts  in  prudence. 

Another  fet  of  authors  make  virtue  confift  in 
thofe  affections  only  which  aim  at  the  happinefs  of 
others,  not  in  thofe  which  aim  at  our  own.  Ac- 
cording to  them,  therefore,  difinterefted  benevolence 

is 


Sect.  II.        ^  Moral  Philosophy.         295 

is  the  only  motive  which  can  ftamp  upon  any  action 
the  character  of  virtue. 

The  character  of  virtue,  it  is  evident,  muft  either 
be  afcribed  indifferently  to  all  our  affections,  when 
under  proper  government  and  direction  •,  or  it  muft 
be  confined  to  fome  one  clafs  or  divifion  of  them. 
The  great  divifion  of  our  affections  is  into  the  felfilh 
and  the  benevolent.  If  the  character  of  virtue, 
therefore,  cannot  be  afcribed  indifferently  to  all  our 
affections,  when  under  proper  government  and  di- 
rection, it  muft  be  confined  either  to  thofe  which  aim 
directly  at  our  own  private  happinefs,  or  to  thofe  which 
aim  directly  at  that  of  others.  If  virtue,  therefore, 
does  not  confift  in  propriety,  it  muft  confift  either  in 
prudence  or  in  benevolence.  Befides  thefe  three,  it 
is  fcarce  poflible  to  imagine  that  any  other  account 
can  be  given  of  the  nature  of  virtue.  I  fhall  endea- 
vour to  fhew  hereafter  how  all  the  other  accounts, 
which  are  feemingly  different  from  any  of  thefe, 
coincide  at  bottom  with  fome  one  or  other  of  them. 

CHAP.     I. 

Of  thofe  fyftems  which    make  virtue  confift  in  pro- 
priety. 


A 


CCORDING  to  Plato,  to  Ariftotle,  and  to 
Zeno,  virtue  confifts  in  the  propriety  of  conduct,  or 
in  the  fuitablenefs  of  the  affection  from  which  we  act 
to  the  object  which  excites  it. 

I.  In  the  fyftem  of  Plato  *  the  foul  is  confidered 
as  fomething  like  a  little  ftate  or  republic,  compofed 
of  three  different  faculties  or  orders, 

U  4  The 

*  $ee  Plato  de  Rep.  lib.  iy. 


296  O/Systems  Part  VI. 

The  firft  is  the  judging  faculty,  the  faculty  which 
determines  not  only  what  are  the  proper  means  for  at- 
taining any  end,  but  alfo  what  ends  are  fit  to  be  pur- 
fued,  and  what  degree  of  relative  value  we  ought  to 
put  upon  each.  This  faculty  Plato  called,  as  it  is 
very  properly  called  reafon,  and  confidered  it  as 
what  had  a  right  to  be  ^the  governing  principle  of 
the  whole.  Under  this  appellation,  it  is  evident,  he 
comprehended  not  only  that  faculty  by  which  we 
judge  of  truth  and  falfehood,  but  that  by  which  we 
judge  of  the  propriety  or  impropriety  of  defires  and 
affections. 

The  different  paflions  and  appetites,  the  natural 
fubject  of  this  ruling  principle,  but  which  are  fo  apt 
to  rebel  againft  their  matter,  he  reduced  to  two  dif- 
ferent clafies  or  orders.  The  firft  confided  of  thole 
paftions,  which  are  founded  in  pride  and  refentment, 
or  in  what  the  fchoolmen  called  the  irafcible  part  of 
fhe  foul ;  ambition,  animofity,  the  love  of  honour, 
and  the  dread  of  fhame,  the  defire  of  victory,  fu- 
periority,  and  revenge  •,  all  thofe  pafiions,  in  fhort, 
which  are  fuppofed  either  to  rife  from,  or  to  denote 
what,  by  a  metaphor  in  our  language,  we  commonly 
call  fpirit  or  natural  fire.  The  fecond  confided  of 
thofe  paffions  which  are  founded  in  the  love  of  plea- 
fure,  or  in  what  the  fchoolmen  called  the  concupif- 
cible  part  of  the  foul.  It  comprehended  all  the  appe- 
tites of  the  body,  the  love  of  eafe  and  fecurity,  and 
of  all  fenfual  gratifications. 

It  rarely  happens  that  we  break  in  upon  that  plan 
of  conduct,  which  the  governing  principle  prefcribes, 
and  which  in  all  our  cool  hours  we  had  laid  down  to 
ouriclves  as  what  was  molt  proper  for  us  to  purfue, 

but 


Se<5b.  II.        0/  Moral   Philosophy.  297 

but  when  prompted  by  one  or  other  of  thofe  two 
different  fets  of  paflions  -,  either  by  ungovernable 
ambition  and  refentment,  or  by  the  importunate  ib- 
licitations  of  prefent  eale  and  plealure.  But  though 
thefe  two  orders  of  paflions  are  fo  apt  to  miflead  us, 
they  are  (till  confidered  as  neceflary  parts  of  human 
natur'e :  the  fir  ft  having  been  given  to  defend  us 
againft  injuries,  to  aflfert  our  rank  and  dignity  in  the 
world,  to  make  us  aim  at  what  is  noble  and  ho- 
nourable, and  to  make  us  diftinguifh  thofe  who  act 
in  the  fame  manner ;  the  fecond  to  provide  for  the 
fupport  and  nccefiities  of  the  body. 

In  the  ftrength,  acutenefs,  and  perfection  of  the 
governing  principle  was  placed  the  eflential  virtue  of 
prudence,  which,  according  to  Plato,  confifted  in  a 
juft  and  clear  difcernment,  founded  upon  general 
and  fcientific  ideas,  of  the  ends  which  were  proper  to 
be  purfued,  and  of  the  means  which  were  proper  for 
attaining  them. 

When  thefirfl  fet  of  paflions,  thofe  of  the  irafcible 
part  of  the  foul,  had   that  degree  of  ftrength   and 
ntmnefs,  which   enabled  them,  under  the  direction 
of  reafon,   to  defpife  all  dangers  in    the  purfuit  of 
what  was  honourable  and  noble  ;  it  conftituted    the 
virtue  of  fortitude  and  magnanimity.     This  order  of 
paflions,  according  to  this  fyftem,  was  of  a  more  ge- 
nerous and  noble  nature  than  the  other.     They  were 
confidered  upon  many  occafions  as  the  auxiliaries  of 
reafon,  to  check  and  reftrain  the  inferior  and  brutal 
appetites.     We  are  often  angry  at  ourfelves,  it  was 
obferved,  we  often  become  the  objects  of  our  own  re- 
fentment and  indignation,  when  the  love  of  pleafure 
prompts  to  do  what  we  difapprove  of  5  and  the  irafci- 
ble 


2o8  of  Systems  Part  VI. 

ble  part  of  our  nature  is  in  this  manner  called  in  to 
aiTift  the  rational  againft  the  concupifcibie. 

When  all  thofe  three  different  parts  of  our  nature 
were  in  perfect  concord  with  one  another,  when  neither 
the  irafcible  nor  concupifcibie  paiTions  ever  aimed  at 
any  gratification  which  reafon  did  not  approve  of, 
and  when  reafon  never  commanded  any  thing,  but 
what  thefe  of  their  own  accord  were  willing  to  per- 
form ;  this  happy  compofure,  this  perfect  and  com- 
plete harmony  of  foul,  conftituted  that  virtue  which 
in  their  language  is  exprefTed  by  a  word  which  we 
commonly  tranflate  temperance,  but  which  might 
more  properly  be  tranflated  good  temper,  or  fobriety 
and  moderation  of  mind. 

Juftice,  the  laft  and  greateft  of  the  four  cardinal 
virtues,  took  place,  according  to  this  fyftem,  when 
each  of  thofe  three  faculties  of  the  mind  confined  it- 
felf  to  its  proper  office,  without  attempting  to  en- 
croach upon  that  of  any  other*,  when  reafon  directed 
and  paflion  obeyed,  and  when  each  pailion  perform- 
ed its  proper  duty,  and  exerted  itfelf  towards  its 
proper  object  eafdy  and  without  reluctance,  and  with 
that  degree  of  force  and  energy,  which  was  fuitable 
to  the  value  of  what  it  purfued.  In  this  confided 
that  complete  virtue,  that  perfect  propriety  of  con- 
duct, which  Plato,  after  fome  of  the  ancient  Pythago- 
reans, denominated  Juftice. 

the  word,  ft  is  to  be  obferved,  which  expreffes  juf- 
tice in  the  Greek  lansuaor,  has  feveral  different  mean- 
ings  j  and  as  the  correfpondent  word  in  ail  other  lan- 
guages, fo  far  as  1  know,  has  the  fame,  there  muft  be 
fome  natural  affinity  among  thofe  various  fignifkations. 

in 


5ect.  II.        of  Moral  Philosophy.  299 

In  onefenfe  we  are  laid  to  do  juftice  to  our  neigh- 
bour when  we  abftain  from  doing  him  any  pofitive 
harm,  and  do  not  directly  hurt  him,  either  in  his 
perfon,  or  in  his  eftate,  or  in  his  reputation.  This 
is  thatjudice  which  I  have  treated  of  above,  the  ob- 
fervance  of  which  may  be  extorted  by  force,  and  the 
violation  of  which  expofes  to  punifhment.  In  ano- 
ther fenfe  we  are  faid  not  to  do  judice  to  our  neigh- 
bour unlefs  we  conceive  for  him  all  that  love,  refpect 
and  edeem,  which  his  character,  his  fuuation,  and 
his  connexion  with  ourfelves,  render  fuitable  and 
proper  for  us  to  feel,  and  unlefs  we  act  according- 
ly. It  is  in  this  fenfe  that  we  are  faid  to  do  injuRice 
to  a  man  of  merit  who  is  connected  with  us,  tho' 
we  abftain  from  hurting  him  in  every  refpect,  if  we 
do  not  exert  ourfelves  to  ferve  him  and  to  place  him 
in  that  fuuation  in  which  the  impartial  fpectator 
would  be  pleafed  to  fee  him.  The  fird  fenfe  of  the 
word  coincides  with  what  Aridotle  and  the  School- 
men call  commutative  juliice,  and  with  what  Gro- 
tius  calls  the j 'uji itia  expletrix,  which  confids  in  ab- 
flaining  from  what  is  another's,  and  in  doing  volun- 
tarily whatever  we  can  with  propriety  be  forced  to 
do.  The  fecond  fenfe  of  the  word  coincides  with 
what  fome  have  called  didributive  judice*,  and  with 
xhejujlitia  attributrix  of  Grotius,  which  conlifts  in 
proper  beneficence,  in  the  becoming  ufe  of  what  is 
our  own,  and  in  the  applying  it  to  thofe  purpoies 
either  of  charity  or  generolity,  to  which  it  is  mod 
fuitable,  in  our  fuuation,  that  it  mould  be  applied. 
In  this  fenfe  judice  comprehends  all  the  focial  virtues. 
'  There 

*  The  diftributive  juftice  of  Ariftotle  is  fomewhat  different. 
It  confifts  in  the  proper  diftribution  of  rewards  from  the  public 
flock  of  a  community.     See  Ariftotle  Ethic.    Nic.  1.  5.  c.  .?. 


joo  Of  Systems  Part  VL 

There  is  yet  another  fenfe  in  which  the  word  juftice 
is  fometimes  taken,  (till  more  extenfive  than  either 
of  the  former,  though  very  much  a-kin  to  the  laft  j 
and  which  runs  too,  fo  far  as  I  know,  through  all 
languages.  It  is  in  this  lad  fenfe  that  we  are  faid  to 
beunjuft,  when  we  do  not  feem  to  value  any  parti- 
cular object  with  that  degree  of  efteem,  or  to  purfue 
it  with  that  degree  of  ardour  which  to  the  impartial 
fpectator  it  may  appear  to  deferve  or  to  be  naturally 
fitted  for  exciting.  Thus  we  are  faid  to  do  injuftice 
to  a  poem  or  a  picture,  when  we  do  not  admire  them 
enough,  and  we  are  faid  to  do  them  more  than  juftice 
when  we  admire  them  too  much.  In  the  fame  man- 
ner we  are  faid  to  do  injuftice  to  ourfelves  when  we 
appear  not  to  give  fufricient  attention  to  any  particu- 
lar object  of  felf-intereft.  In  this  laft  fenfe,  what  is 
called  juftice  means  the  fame  thing  with  exact  and 
perfect  propriety  of  conduct  and  behaviour,  and  com- 
prehends in  it,  not  only  the  offices  of  both  commu- 
tative and  distributive  juftice,  but  of  every  other  vir- 
tue, of  prudence,  of  fortitude,  of  temperance.  It  is  in 
this  laft  fenfe  that  Plato  evidently  underftands  what 
he  calls  juftice,  and  which,  therefore,  according  to 
him,  comprehends  in  it  the  perfection  of  every  fort 
of  virtue. 

Such  is  the  account  given  by  Plato  of  the  nature 
of  virtue,  or  of  that  temper  of  mind  which  is  the 
proper  object  of  praife  and  approbation.  It  confifts, 
according  to  him,  in  that  ftate  of  mind  in  which  eve- 
ry faculty  confines  itfelf  within  its  proper  fphere 
without  encroaching  upon  that  of  any  other,  and 
performs  its  proper  office  with  that  precife  degree  of 
ftrength  and  vigour  which  belongs  to  it.  His  ac- 
count, it  is  evident^  coincides  in  every  refpect  with 

what 


Sect.  II.         of  Moral  Philosophy.  301 

what  we  have  faid  above  concerning  the  propriety  of 
conduct. 

II.  Virtue,  according  to  Ariftotle  *,  confifts  in 
the  habit  of  mediocrity  according  to  right  reafon. 
Every  particular  virtue,  according  to  him,  lies  in  a 
kind  of  middle  between  two  oppolite  vices,  of  which 
the  one  offends  from  being  too  much,  the  other  from 
being  too  little  affected  by  a  particular  fpecies  of  ob- 
jects. Thus  the  virtue  of  fortitude  or  courage  lies 
in  the  middle  between  the  oppofite  vices  of  cowardice 
and  of  prefumptuous  rafhnefs,  of  which  the  one 
offends  from  being  too  much,  and  the  other  from  be- 
ing too  little  affected  by  the  objects  of  fear.  Thus 
too  the  virtue  of  frugality  lies  in  a  middle  between 
avarice  and  profufion,  of  which  the  one  confifts  in  an 
excefs,  the  other  in  a  defect  of  the  proper  attention 
to  the  objects  of  felf-intereft.  Magnanimity,  in  the 
fame  manner,  lies  in  a  middle  between  the  excefs  of 
arrogance  and  the  defect  of  pufillanimity,  of  which, 
the  one  confifts  in  too  extravagant,  the  other  in  too 
weak  a  fentiment  of  our  own  worth  and  dignity.  It 
is  unneceffary  to  obferve  that  this  account  of  virtue 
correfponds  too  pretty  exactly  with  what  has  been 
faid  above  concerning  the  propriety  and  impropriety 
of  conduct. 

According  to  Ariftotle  f ,  indeed,  virtue  did  not 
fo  much  confift:  in  thofe  moderate  and  right  affecti- 
ons, as  in  the  habit  of  this  moderation.  In  order  to 
underftand  this,  it  is  to  be  obferved,  that  virtue  may 
be  confidered  either  as  the  quality  of  an  action,   or 

as 

*  See  Ariftotle  Ethic.  Nic.  I.  2.  c.  5.  et  feq.  et  I.  3.  c    5.  et 
'feq. 

f  See  Ariftotle  Ethic.  Nic.  lib.  ii.  ch.  1    2.  3.  and  4. 


302  0/Systems  Part  VI. 

as  the  quality  of  a  perfon.  Confidered  as  the  qua- 
lity of  an  action,  it  coniifts,  even  according  to  Arif- 
totle,  in  the  reafonable  moderation  of  the  affection 
from  which  the  action  proceeds,  whether  this  difpo- 
ikion  be  habitual  to  the  perion  or  not.  Confidered 
as  the  quality  of  a  perfon,  it  confifts  in  the  habit  of 
this  reafonable  moderation,  in  its  having  become  the 
cuiiomary  and  ufual  difpofition  of  the  mind.  Thus 
the  action  which  proceeds  from  an  occafional  fit  of 
generality  is  undoubtedly  a  generous  action,  but  the 
man  who  performs  it,  is  not  necefTarily  a  generous 
perfon,  becaufe  it  may  be  the  fingle  action  of  the 
kind  which  he  ever  performed.  The  motive  and 
difpofition  of  heart,  from  which  this  action  was  per- 
formed, may  have  been  quite  juft  and  proper :  but 
as  this  happy  mood  feems  to  have  been  the  effect 
rather  of  accidental  humour  than  of  any  thing  fteady 
or  permanent  in  the  character,  it  can  reflect  no  great 
honour  on  the  performer.  When  we  denominate  a 
character  generous  or  charitable,  or  virtuous  in  any 
refpect,  we  mean  to  fignify  that  the  difpofition  ex- 
preffed  by  each  of  thofe  appellations  is  the  ufual 
and  cuftomary  difpofition  of  the  perfon.  But  fingle 
actions 'of  any  kind,  how  proper  and  fuitable  foever, 
are  of  little  confequence  to  fhow  that  this  is  the  cafe. 
If  a  fingle  action  was  fufficient  to  (lamp  the  character 
of  any  virtue  upon  the  perfon  who  performed  it,  the 
mod  worthlefs  of  mankind  might  lay  claim  to  all  the 
virtues ;  fince  there  is  no  man  who  has  not,  upon 
fome  occafions,  acted  with  prudence,  juftice,  tem- 
perance, and  fortitude.  But  though  fingle  actions, 
how  laudable  foever,  reflect  very  little  praife  upon 
the  perfon  who  performs  them,  a  fingle  vicious  action 
performed  by  one  wtjofe  conduct  is  ufually  very  re- 
gular, greatly  diminifhes  and  fometimes  deflroys  al- 
together 


Se6t.IL         ^/  Moral   Philosophy.        303 

together  our  opinion  of  his  virtue.  A  Tingle  action 
of  this  kind  fufficiently  fhows  that  his  habits  are  not 
perfect,  and  that  he  is  lefs  to  be  depended  upon, 
than,  from  the  ufual  train  of  his  behaviour,  we 
might  have  been  apt  to  imagine. 

Ariftotle  too  *,  when  he  made  virtue  to  confift  in 
practical  habits,  had  it  probably  in  his  view  to  op- 
pofe  the  doctrine  of  Plato,  who  feems  to  have  been 
of  opinion  that  juft  fentiments  and  reafonable  judg- 
ments concerning  what  was  fit  to  be  done  or  to  be 
avoided,  were  alone  fufficient  to  conftitute  the  moll 
perfect  virtue.  Virtue,  according  to  Plato,  might 
be  confidered  as  a  fpecies  of  fcience,  and  no  man,  he 
thought,  could  fee  clearly  and  demonftratively  what 
was  right  and  what  was  wrong,  and  not  act  accord- 
ingly. Paflion  might  make  us  act  contrary  to  doubt- 
ful and  uncertain  opinions,  not  to  plain  and  evident 
judgments.  Ariftotle,  on  the  contrary,  was  of  opi- 
nion, that  no  conviction  of  the  underftanding  was 
capable  of  getting  the  better  of  inveterate  habits, 
and  that  good  morals  arofe  not  from  knowledge  but 
from  action. 

III.  According  to  Zeno  +,  the  founder  of  the 
ftoical  doctrine,  every  animal  was  by  nature  recom- 
mended to  its  own  care,  and  was  endowed  with  the 
principle  of  felf-love,  that  it  might  endeavour  to 
preferve,  not  only  its  exiftence,  but  all  the  different 
parts  of  its  nature,  in  the  bell  and  mod  perfedl  ftate 
of  which  they  were  capable. 

The 

*  See  Ariftotle  Mag.  Mor.  lib.  i.  ch.  I. 
t  See  Cicero  de  finibus,  lib.  iii.  alfo  Diogenes  Laertius  in 
Zenone,  lib,  vii.  fegment  84. 


3C4  ,  Of  S  y  s  t  £  m  s  Part  VL 

The  felf  love  of  man  embraced,  if  I  may  fay  fo, 
his  body  and  all  its  different  members,  his  mind  and 
all  its  different  faculties  and  powers,  and  defired  the 
prefervation  and  maintenance  of  them  all  in  their 
belt  and  moft  perfect  condition.  Whatever  tended 
to  fupport  this  ftate  of  existence  was,  therefore,  by 
nature  pointed  out  to  him  as  fit  to  be  cholen  ;  and 
whatever  tended  to  deitroy  it,  as  fit  to  be  rejected. 
Thus  health,  ftrength,  agility,  and  eafe  of  body,  as 
well  as  the  external  conveniences  which  could  pro- 
mote theie,  wealth,  power,  honours,  the  refpect  and 
efteem  of  thofe  we  live  with,  were  naturally  pointed 
out  to  us  as  things  eligible,  and  of  which  the  pofTef- 
fion  was  preferable  to  the  contrary.  On  the  other 
hand,  ficknefs,  infirmity,  unwieldinefs,  pain  of  body, 
as  well  as  all  the  external  inconveniencies  which 
tended  to  occafion  or  bring  on  any  of  them,  poverty, 
the  want  of  authority,  the  contempt  or  hatred  of 
thofe  we  live  with  •,  were,  in  the  fame  manner,  pointed 
out  to  us  as  things  to  be  fhunned  and  avoided.  In 
each  of  thofe  two  different  claffes  of  objects  there 
were  fome  which  appeared  to  be  more  the  objects 
either  of  choice  or  rejection  than  others  in  the  fame 
clafs.  Thus,  in  the  nrfl  clafs,  health  appeared  evi- 
dently preferable  to  ftrength,  and  ftrength  to  agility  ; 
reputation  to  power,  and  power  to  riches.  And  thus 
too,  in  the  fecond  clafs,  ficknefs  was  more  to  be 
avoided  than  unwieldinefs  of  body,  ignominy  than 
poverty,  and  poverty  than  the  want  of  authority. 
Virtue  and  the  propriety  of  conduct  conftfted  in 
choofing  and  rejeding  all  different  objects  and  cir- 
cumftances  according  as  they  were  by  nature  rendered 
more  or  lefs  the  objects  of  choice  or  rejection;  in 
felefting  always  from  among  the  feveral  objects  of 
choice   prefented  tcTus,  that  which  was  moft  to  be 

chofen, 


Sect.  II.         <?/  Moral  Philosophy,         305 

chofen,  when  we  could  not  obtain  them  all :  and  in 
felecting  too  out  of  the  feveral  objects  of  rejection 
offered  to  us,  that  which  was  leaft  to  be  avoided, 
when  it  was  not  in  our  power  to  avoid  them  all.  By 
choofing  and  rejecting  with  this  juft  and  accurate  dis- 
cernment, by  thus  bellowing  upon  every  object  the 
precife  degree  of  attention  it  deferved,  according  to 
the  place  which  it  held  in  this  natural  fcale  of  things, 
we  maintained,  according  to  the  Stoics,  that  perfect 
rectitude  of  conduct  which  conttituted  the  elTence  of 
virtue.  .  This  was  what  they  called  to  live  confift- 
ently,  to  live  according  to  nature,  and  to  obey  thofe 
laws  and  directions  which  nature,  or  the  Author  of 
nature,  had  prefcribed  for  our  conduct.  - 

So  far  the  Stoical  idea  of  propriety  and  virtue  is 
not  very  different  from  that  of  Ariltotle  and  the  an- 
tient  peripatetics.  What  chiefly  diftinguifhed  thofe 
two  fyltenvs  from  one  another  was  the  different  de- 
grees of  felf-command  which  they  required.  The 
peripatetics  allowed  of  fome  degree  of  perturbation 
as  fuitable  to  the  weaknefs  of  human  nature,  and  as 
ufeful  to  fo  imperfect  a  creature  as  man.  If  his  own 
misfortunes  excited  no  palTionate  grief,  if  his  own  in- 
juries palled  forth  no  lively  refentment,  reafon,  or  a 
regard  to  the  general  rules  which  determined  what 
was  right  and  fit  to  be  done,  would  commonly,  they 
thought,  be  too  weak  to  prompt  him  to  avoid  the 
one  or  to  beat  off  the  other.  The  Stoics,  on  the 
contrary,  demanded  the  molt  perfect  apathy,  and  re- 
garded every  emotion  which  could  in  the  fmalleit  de- 
gree dilturb  the  tranquillity  of  the  mind,  as  the  ef-~ 
feet  of  levity  and  folly.  The  Peripatetics  feem  to 
have  thought  that  no  paiTion  exceeded  the  bounds  of 
propriety  as  long  as  the  fpectator,  by  the  utmoft  ef- 

X  fort 


3©6  Of  StsiEMs  Part  VL 

fort  of  humanity,  could  fympathize  with  it.  The 
Stoics,  on  the  contrary,  appear  to  have  regarded 
every  pafTion  as  improper,  which  made  any  demand 
upon  the  fympathy  of  the  fpectator,  or  required  him 
to  alter  in  any  refpect  the  natural  and  ordinary  Hate 
of  his  mind,  in  order  to  keep  time  with  the  vehe- 
mence of  its  emotions.  A  man  of  virtue,  they 
feem  to  have  thought,  ought  not  to  depend  upon 
the  generofity  of  thofe  he  lives  with  for  pardon  or 
approbation. 

According  to  the  Stoics,  every  event  ftiould,  to 
a  wife  man,  appear  indifferent,  and  what  for  its  own 
fake  could  be  the  object  neither  of  defire,  nor  aver- 
sion, neither  of  joy,  nor  forrow.  If'  he  preferred 
fome  events  to  others,  if  fome  fituations  were  the  ob- 
jects of  his  choice,  and  others  of  his  rejection,  *  it 
was  not,  becaufe  he  regarded  the  one  as,  in  them- 
felves,  in  any  refpect  better  than  the  other,  or  thought 
that  his  own  happinefs  would  be  more  complete  in, 
what  is  called,  the  fortunate,  than  in  what  is  com- 
monly regarded  as  the  diflrefsful  fituation  ;  but  be- 
caufe the  propriety  of  action,  the  rule  which  the 
gods  had  given  him  for  the  direction  of  his  conduct, 
required  him  to  choofe  and  reject  in  this  manner. 
Among  the  primary  objects  of  natural  inclination,  or 
among  thofe  things  which  nature  had  originally  re- 
commended to  us  as  eligible,  was  the  profperity,  of 
our  family,  of  our  relations,  of  our  friends,  of  our 
country,  of  mankind,  and  of  the  univerfe  in  general. 
Nature   too  had  taught  us  that  as  the  profperity  of 

two 

*  Some  of  thefe^exprefiions  found  a  little  aukward  in  the 
Englim  language :  they  are  literal  translations  of  the  technical 
terms  of  the  Stoics, 


Sedt.  II.       ^/Moral  Philosophy.         307 

two  was  preferable  to  that  of  one,  that  of  many  or  of 
all  muft  be  infinitely  more  fo.  That  we  ourfelves 
were  but  one,  and  that  confequently  wherever  our 
profperity,  was  inconfiftent  with  that,  either  of  the 
whole,  or  of  any  confiderable  part  of  the  whole,  ic 
ought,,  even  in  our  own  choice,  to  yield  to  what  was 
fo  valtly  preferable.  As  all  the  events  in  this  world 
were  conducted  by  the  providence  of  a  wife,  pow- 
erful and  good  God,  we  might  be  aflfured  that  what- 
ever happened,  tended  to  the  profperity  and  perfec- 
tion of  the  whole.  If  we  ourfelves,  therefore,  were 
in  poverty,  in  fickneis,  or  in  any  other  calamity,  we 
ought,  firft  of  all,  to  ufe  our  utmoft  endeavours,  fo 
far  as  juftice  and  our  duty  to  others  would  allow,  to 
refcue  ourfelves  from  this  difagreeable  circumftance. 
But  if  after  all  we  could  do,  we  found  this  impofTi- 
ble,  we  ought  to  reft  fatisfied  that  the  order  and  per- 
fection of  the  univerfe  required  that  we  mould  in  the 
mean  time  continue  in  this  fituation.  And  as  the 
profperity  of  the  whole  mould,  even  to  us,  appear 
preferable  to  fo  infignificant  a  part  as  ourfelves,  Our 
fituation,  whatever  it  was,  ought  from  that  moment 
to  become  the  object  of  our  choice,  and  even  of  our 
defire,  if  we  would  maintain  that  complete  propriety 
and  rectitude  of  fentiment  and  conduct  in  which  the 
perfection  of  our  nature  confifts.  If,  indeed,  any 
opportunity  of  extricating  ourfelves  (hould  offer,  it 
became  our  duty  to  embrace  it.  The  order  of  the 
univerfe,  it  was  evident,  no  longer  required  our  con- 
tinuance in  this  fituation,  and  the  great  director  of 
the  world  plainly  called  upon  us  to  leave  it,  by  fo 
clearly  pointing  out  the  road  which  we  were  to  fol- 
low. It  was  the  fame  cafe  with  the  adverfity  of  our 
relations,  our  friends,  our  country,  If  without  vio- 
X  z  lating 


jo8  Of  Systems  Part  VL 

lating  any  more  facred  obligation,  it  was  in  our 
power  to  prevent  or  to  put  an  end  to  their  calamity,, 
it  undoubtedly  was  onr  duty  to  do  fo.  The  propri- 
ety of  ad  ion,  the  rule  which  Jupiter  had  given  us 
for  the  direction  of  our  conduct,  evidently  required 
this  of  us.  But  if  it  was  altogether  out  of  our  power 
to  do  either,  we  ought  then  to  confider  this  event  as 
the  moft  fortunate  which  could  poflibly  have  hap- 
pened :  Becaufe  we  might  be  aflured  that  it  tended 
moft  to  the  proiperity  and  order  of  the  whole  :  which 
was  what  we  ourfelves,  if  we  were  wife  and  equita- 
able,  ought  moft  of  all  to  deiire.  "  In  what  fenfe, 
€C  fays  Epi&etus,  are  fome  things  faid  to  be  accord- 
"  inor  to  our  nature,  and  others  contrary  to  it  ?  It  is 
"  in  that  fenfe  in  which  we  confider  oiiifelves  as  fe- 
"  parated  and  detached  from  all  other  things.  For 
"  thus  it  may  be  faid  to  be  according  to  the  nature  of 
cc  the  foot  to  be  always  clean.  But  if  you  confider 
*6  it  as  a  foot,  and  not  as  fomething  detached  from  the 
"  reft  of  the  body,  it  muft  behove  it  fometimes  to 
"  trample  in  the  dirt,  and  fometimes  to  tread  upon 
"  thorns,  and  fometimes  too  to  be  cut  off  for  the  fake 
"  of  the  whole  body  ;  and  if  it  refufes  this,  it  is  no 
"  longer  a  foot.  Thus  too  ought  we  to  conceive 
"  with  regard  to  ourfelves.  What  are  you  ?  A  man. 
"  If  you  confider  yourfelf  as  fomething  feparated 
<c  and  detached,  it  is  agreeable  to  your  nature  to  live 
"  to  old  age,  to  be  rich,  to  be  in  health.  But  if  you 
"  confider  yourfelf  as  a  man,  and  as  a  part  of  a 
"  whole,  upon  account  of  that  whole  it  will  behoove 
"  you  fometimes  to  be  in  ficknefs,  fometimes  to  be  ex- 
"  pofed  to  the  inconveniency  of  a  fea  voyage,  fome- 
■  times  to  be  in  want ;  and  at  lad,  perhaps,  to  die 
"  before  your  tirrfc.     "Why  then  do  you  complain  ? 

"  Don't 


Se&.  IT.        sf  Moral   Philosophy.  309 

*?  Don't  you  know  that  by  doing  fo,  as  the  foot  ceaies 
"  to  be  a  foot,  fo  you  ceafe  to  be  a  man  ?"  * 

This  fubmiffion  to  the  order  of  the  univerfe,  this 
entire   indifference  with  regard  to  whatever  concerns 
ourfelves,  when  put  into  the  balance  with  the  intereit 
of  the  whole,  could  derive  its  propriety,  it  is  evident, 
from  no  other  principle  befides  that,  upon  which  I 
have  endeavoured  to  fhow,  the  propriety  of  juitice 
was  founded.     As  long  as  we  view  our  own  interefts 
with  our  own  eyes,  it  is  fcar.ee  poffible  that  we  fhottld 
willingly   acquiefce   in   their  being  thus  facrificed  to 
the  interefts  of  the  whole.     It  is  only  when  we  view 
thofe   oppofite  interefts  with  the  eyes  of  others,  that 
what  concerns  ourfelves  can   appear  to  be  fo  con- 
temptible in   the  companion,  as  to  be  refigned  with- 
out any   reluctance.     To  every  body  but  the  perfon 
principally    concerned,    nothing   can    appear   more 
agreeable  to  reafon  and  propriety  than  that  the  part 
Ihould  give  place  to  the  whole.     But  what  is  agree- 
able to  the  reafon  of  all  other  men,  ought  not  to  ap- 
pear contrary  to  his.     He  himfelf  therefore  ought  to 
approve  of  this  facrifice,  and  acknowledge  its  confor- 
mity to  reafon.     But  all  the  affections  of  a  wife  man, 
according  to  the  ftoics,  are  perfectly  agreeable  to  rea- 
fon and  propriety,  and  of  their  own  accord  coincide 
with  whatever  thefe  ruling  principles  prefcribe.     A 
wife  man,  therefore,  could  never  feel  any  reluctance 
to  comply  with  this  difpolition  of  things. 

IV.  Befides  thefe  ancient,  there  are  fome  modern 
fyftems,  according  to  which  virtue  confifls  in  propri- 
ety j  oc  in  the  mitablenefs  of  the  affection  from  which 

X  3  we 

*  Arrian.  lib.  II.  c.  s. 


gio  Of  Systems  Part  VI 

we  ad,  to  the  caufe  or  object  which  excites  it.  The 
fyftem  of  Dr.  Clarke,  which  places  virtue  in  acting 
according  to  the  relations  of  things,  in  regulating 
our  conduct  according  to  the  fitnefs  or  incongruity 
which  there  may  be  in  the  application  of  certain 
actions  to  certain  things,  or  to  certain  relations  : 
That  of  Mr.  Woolafton,  which  places  it  in  acting  ac- 
cording to  the  truth  of  things,  according  to  their 
proper  nature  and  eiTence,  or  in  treating  them  as 
what  they  really  are,  and  not  as  what  they  are  not  : 
tfoat  of  my  lord  Shaftefbury,  which  places  it  in  main- 
taining a  proper  balance  of  the  affections,  and  in  al- 
lowing no  paifion  to  go  beyond  its  proper  fphere ; 
are  all  of  them  more  or  lefs  inaccurate  defcriptions  of 
the  fame  fundamental  idea. 

The  defcription  of  virtue  which  is  either  given, 
or  at  lead  meant  and  intended  to  be  given  in  each 
of  thofe  fyftems,  for  fome  of  the  modern  authors  are 
not  very  fortunate  in  their  manner  of  exprefiing 
themfelves,  is  no  doubt  quite  juft,  fo  far  as  it  goes. 
There  is  no  virtue  without  propriety,  and  wherever 
there  is  propriety,  fome  degree  of  approbation  is 
due.  But  (till  this  defcription  is  imperfect.  For 
though  propriety  is  an  eflential  ingredient  in  every 
virtuous  action,  it  is  not  always  the  fole  ingredient. 
Beneficent  actions  have  in  them  another  quality  by 
which  they  appear  not  only  to  deferve  approbation 
but  recompenfe.  None  of  thofe  fyftems  account 
either  eafily  or  fufficiently  for  that  fuperior  degree 
of  efteem  which  feems  due  to  fuch  actions,  or  for 
that  diverfity  of  fentiment  which  they  naturally  ex- 
cite. Neither  is  the  defcription  of  vice  more  com- 
plete. For  in  the  fame  manner,  though  impropriety 
is  a  necelTary  ingredient  in  every  vicious  action,  it  is 

not 


Sect.  II.         of  Moral  Philosophy.  311* 

not  always  the  fole  ingredient,  and  there  is  often  the 
higheft  degree  of  abfurdity  and  impropriety  in  very 
harmlefs  and  infignificant  actions.  Deliberate  ani- 
ons, of  a  pernicious  tendency  to  thofe  we  live  with, 
have,  befides  their  impropriety,  a  peculiar  quality  of 
their  own  by  which  they  appear  to  deferve,  not  only 
difapprobation,  but  punifhment ;  and  to  be  the  ob- 
jects, not  of  diflike  merely,  but  of  refentment  and 
revenge :  and  none  of  thofe  fyftems  eafily  and  fuffi- 
ently  account  for  that  fuperior  degree  of  defoliation 
which  we  feel  for  fuch  ad  ions. 


CHAP.    u. 


Of  thofe  fyftems  which  make  virtue  confift   in  pru- 
dence. 


H  E  mod  ancient  of  thofe  fyftems  which  make 
virtue  confift:  in  prudence,  and  of  which  any  confi- 
derable  remains  have  come  down  to  us,  is  that  of 
Epicurus,  who  is  faid,  however,  to  have  borrowed 
all  the  leading  principles  of  his  philofophy,  from 
fome  of  thofe  who  had  gone  before  him,  particularly 
from  Ariftippus ;  though  it  is  very  probable,  not- 
withstanding this  allegation  of  his  enemies,  that  at 
lead  his  manner  of  applying  thofe  principles  was  al- 
together his  own. 

According  to  Epicurus,  *   bodily  pleafure  and 

pain  were  the  fole  ultimate  objects  of  natural  defire 

and   averfion.     That   they  were  always  the  natural 

objects  of  thofe   paffions,  he  thought  required  no 

X  4  proof. 

*  See  Cicero  de  finibus,  lib.  i.  Diogenes  Laert.  1.  x. 


312  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI. 

proof.  Pleafure  might,  indeed,  appear  fometimes 
to  be  avoided ;  not,  however,  becaufe  it  was  plea- 
fure, but  becaufe,  by  the  enjoyment  of  ir,  we  mould 
either  forfeit  fome  greater  pleafure,  or  expofe  our- 
felves  to  fome  pain  that  was  more  to  be  avoided  than 
this  pleafure  was  to  be  defired.  Pain,  in  the  fame 
manner,  might  appear  fometimes  to  be  eligible-,  not, 
however,  becaufe  it  was  pain,  but  becaufe  by  en- 
during it  we  might  either  avoid  a  ftill  greater  pain, 
or  acquire  fome  pleafure  of  much  more  importance. 
That  bodily  pain  and  pleafure,  therefore,  were  al- 
ways the  natural  objects  of  defire  and  averlion,  was, 
he  thought,  abundantly  evident.  Nor  was  it  lefs  fo, 
he  imagined,  that  they  were  the  fole  ultimate  objects 
of  thofe  paiTions.  Whatever  elfe  was  either  defired 
or  avoided  was  fo,  according  to  him,  upon  account 
of  its  tendency  to  produce  one  or  other  of  thofe  fen- 
fations.  The  tendency  to  procure  pleasure  rendered 
power  and  riches  defirable,  as  the  contrary  tendency 
to  produce  pain  made  poverty  and  infignificancy  the 
objects  of  averfion.  Honour  and  reputation  were 
valued,  becaufe  the  efteem  and  love  of  thofe  we  live 
with  were  of  the  greateft  confequence  both  to  pro- 
cure pleafure  and  to  defend  us  from  pain.  Ignominy 
and  bad  fame,  on  the  contrary,  were  to  be  avoided, 
becaufe  the  hatred,  contempt,  and  refentment  of 
thofe  we  lived  with  deftroyed  all  fecurity,  and  ne- 
ceffarily  expofed  us  to  the  greateft  bodily  evils. 

All  the  pleafures  and  pains  of  the  mind  were,  ac- 
cording to  Epicurus,  ultimately  derived  from  thofe 
of  the  body.  The  mind  was  happy  when  it  thought 
of the'paft  pleafures  of  the  body,  and  hoped  for 
others  to  come  :  and  it  was  miferable  when  it  thought 
^  of 


Seel,  i I.         of  Moral  Philosophy.  313 

of  the  pains  which  the  body  had  formerly  endured, 
and  dreaded  the  fame  or  greater  thereafter. 

But  the  pleafures  and  pains  of  the  mind,  though 
ultimately  derived  from  thofe  of  the  body,  were 
vaftly  greater  than  their  originals.  The  body  felt 
only  the  fenfation  of  the  prefent  inftant,  whereas  the 
mind  felt  alfo  the  paft  and  the  future,  the  one  by 
remembrance,  the  other  by  anticipation,  and  confe- 
quently  both  fuffered  and  enjoyed  much  more. 
When  we  are  under  the  greateft  bodily  pain,  he  ob- 
ferved,  we  mall  always  find,  if  we  attend  to  it,  that 
it  is  not  the  fuffering  of  the  prefent  inflant  which 
chiefly  torments  us,  but  either  the  agonizing  re- 
membrance of  the  paft,  or  the  yet  more  horrible  dread 
of  the  future.  The  pain  of  each  inftant,  confidered 
by  itieif,  and  cut  off  from  all  that  goes  before  and  all 
that  comes  after  it,  is  a  trifle  not  worth  the  regard- 
ing. Yet  this  is  all  which  the  body  can  ever  be  faid 
to  fuffer.  In  the  fame  manner,  when  we  enjoy  the 
greateft  pleafure,  we  Jhall  always  find  that  the  bodily 
fenfation,  the  feniation  of  the  prefent  inflant  makes 
but  a  Imall  part  of  our  happinefs,  that  our  enjoy- 
ment chiefly  arifes  either  from  the  cheerful  recollec- 
tion of  the  paft,  or  the  ftill  more  joyous  anticipation 
of  the  future,  and  that  the  mind  always  contributes 
by  much  the  largeft  fhare  of  the  entertainment. 

Since  our  happinefs  and  mifery,  therefore,  de- 
pended chiefly  on  the  mind,  if  this  part  of  our  na- 
ture was  well  difpofed,  if  our  thoughts  and  opinions 
were  as  they  fhould  be,  it  was  of  little  importance 
in  what  manner  our  body  was  affected.  Though 
under  great  bodily  pain,  we  might  ftill  enjoy  a  con- 
fiderable  fhare  of  happinefs,  if  our  reafon  and  judg- 
ment 


314  of  Systems  Part  VI/ 

ment  maintained  their  fuperiority.  We  might  en- 
tertain ourfelves  with  the  remembrance  of  pall,  and 
with  the  hopes  of  future  pleafure;  we  might  (often 
the  rigour  of  our  pains,  by  recollecting  what  it  was 
which,  even  in  this  fituation,  we  were  under  any  ne- 
cefiity  of  fuftering.  That  this  was  merely  the  bodily 
fenfation,  the  pain  of  the  prefent  inftant,  which  by 
itfelf  could  never  be  very  great.  That  whatever 
agony  we  fuffered  from  the  dread  of  its  continuance 
was  the  effect  of  an  opinion  of  the  mind,  which  might 
be  corrected  by  jufter  fentiments  ;  by  confidering 
that,  if  our  pains  were  violent,  they  would  proba- 
bly be  of  fhort  duration ;  and  that  if  they  were  of 
long  continuance,  they  would  probably  be  moderate, 
and  admit  of  many  intervals  of  eafe;  and  that,  at 
any  rate,  death  was  always  at  hand  and  within  call 
to  deliver  us,  which  as,  according  to  him,  it  put  an 
end  to  all  fenfation,  either  of  pain  or  pleafure,  could 
not  be  regarded  as  an  evil.  When  we  are,  faid  he, 
death  is  not ;  and  when  death  is,  we  are  not  -,  death 
therefore  can  be  nothing  to  us. 

If  the  actual  fenfation  of  pofitive  pain  was  in  it- 
felf fo  little  to  be  feared,  that  of  pleafure  was  ftill 
lefs  to  be  defired.  Naturally  the  fenfation  of  plea- 
fure was  much  lefs  pungent  than  that  of  pain.  If, 
therefore,  this  laft  could  take  fo  very  little  from  the 
happinefs  of  a  well  difpofed  mind,  the  other  could 
add  fcarce  any  thing  to  it.  When  the  body  was 
free  from  pain  and  the  mind  from  fear  and  anxiety, 
the  fuperadded  fenfation  of  bodily  pleafure  could  be 
of  very  little  importance-,  and  though  it  might  di- 
verfify,  could  not  be  properly  be  faid  to  increafe  the 
happinefs  of  this  fituation. 

In 


Sect.  II.        of  Moral  Philosophy.  215 

In  eafe  of  body,  therefore,  and  in  fecurity  or  tran- 
quillity  of  mind,  confided,  according  to  Epicurus, 
the  moil  perfect  ftate  of  human&nature,  the  moft 
complete  happinefs  which  man  was  capable  of  en- 
joying. To  obtain  this  great  end  of  natural  defire 
was  the  fole  object  of  all  the  virtues,  which,  accord- 
ing to  him,  were  not  defirable  upon  their  own  ac- 
count, but  upon  account  of  their  tendency  to  bring 
about  this  fituation. 

Prudence,  for  example,  though  according  to  this 
philofophy,  the  fource  and  principle  of  all  the  vir- 
tues, was  not  defirable  upon  its  own  account.  That 
careful  and  laborious  and  circumfpect  ftate  of  mind, 
ever  watchful  and  ever  attentive  to  the  moft  diftant 
confequences  of  every  action,  could  ndt  be  a  thing 
pleafant  or  agreeable  for  its  own  fake,  but  upon  ac- 
count of  its  tendency  to  procure  the  greateft  goods 
and  to  keep  off  the  greateft  evils. 

To  abftain  from  pleafure  too,  to  curb  and  ref- 
train  our  natural  paffions  for  enjoyment,  which  was 
the  office  of  temperance,  could  never  be  defirable 
for  its  own  fake.  The  whole  value  of  this  virtue 
arofe  from  its  utility,  from  its  enabling  us  to  poft- 
pone  the  prefent  enjoyment  for  the  fake  of  a  greater 
to  come,  or  to  avoid  a  greater  pain  that  might  enfue 
from  it.  Temperance,  in  fhort,  was  nothing  but 
prudence  with  regard  to  pleafure. 

To  fupport  labour,  to  endure  pain,  to  be  expofed 
to  danger  or  to  death,  the  fituations  which  fortitude 
would  often  lead  us  into,  were  furely  (till  lefs  the 
objects  of  natural  defire.  They  were  chofen  only  to 
avoid  greater  evils.  We  fubmitted  to  labour,  in  or- 
der 


3x6  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

der  to  avoid  the  greater  fhame  and  pain  of  poverty, 
and  we  expofed  ourielves  to  danger  and  to  death  in 
defence  of  our  liberty  and  property,  the  means  and 
inftruments  of  pleafure  and  happinefs  •,  or  in  defence 
of  our  country,  in  the  fafety  of  which  our  own  was 
necefiarily  comprehended.  Fortitude  enabled  us  to 
do  all  this  cheerfully,  as  the  beft  which,  in  our  pre- 
lent  fituation,  could  poMibly  be  done,  and  was  in 
reality  no  more  than  prudence,  good  judgment,  and 
prefence  of  mind  in  properly  appreciating  pain,  la- 
bour, and  danger,  always  choofing  the  lefs  in  order 
to  avoid  the  greater. 

It  is  the  fame  cafe  with  juftice.     To  abftain  from 
what  is  another's  was  not  defirableon  its  own  account, 
and  it  could  not  furely   be  better   for   you,   that  I 
fhould  poflefs  what  is  my  own,  than  that  you  mould 
pofieis   it.     You  ought   however,  to    abftain    from 
whatever  belongs  to  me,  becaufe  by  doing  otherwife 
you  will  provoke  the   refentment  and  indignation  of 
mankind.      The    fecurity  and  tranquillity  of  your 
mind  will  be  entirely  defiroyed.     You  will  be  filled 
with  fear  and  confirmation  at  the  thought  of  that 
punifhment  which  you  will  imagine  that  men  are  at 
all  times  ready  to  inflict  upon  you,  and  from  which 
no  power,  no  art,   no  concealment,  will  ever,  in  your 
own  fancy,  be  fufficient  to  protect  you.     That  other 
fpecies  of  juftice  which  confifts  in  doing  proper  good 
offices  to  different  perfons,   according  to  the  various 
relations  of  neighbours,  kinfmen,  friends,  benefac- 
tors, fuperiors,  or  equals,   which  they  may  ftand  in 
to  us,  is  recommended  by  the  fame  reafons.     To  act 
properly  in  all  thefe  different  relations  procures  us 
the  efteem  and  love  of  thofe  we  live  with  ;   as  to  do 
otherwife  excites  th*ir  contempt  and  hatred.     By  the 

one 


Sect.  II.        c/  Moral  Philosophy.  bip 

one  we  naturally  fecure,  by  the  other  we  neceflarily 
endanger  our  own  eafe  and  tranquillity,  the  great  and 
ultimate  objects  of  all  our  defires.  The  whole  virtue 
of  juftice,  therefore,  the  moil  important  of  all  the 
virtues,  is  no  more  than  difcreet  and  prudent  con- 
duct with  regard  to  our  neighbours. 

Such  is  the  doctrine  of  Epicurus  concerning  the 
nature  of  virtue.  It  may  feem  extraordinary  that 
this  philofopher,  who  is  defcribed  as  a  perfon  of  the 
mod  amiable  manners,  mould  never  have  obferved, 
that,  whatever  may  be  the  tendency  of  thofe  virtues, 
or  of  the  contrary  vices,  with  regard  to  our  bodily 
eafe  and  fecurity,  thr  fentiments  which  they  natural- 
ly excite  in  others  are  the  objects  of  a  much  more 
paflionate  defire  or  averfion  than  all  their  other  con- 
fequences  ;  That  to  be  amiable,  to  be  refpectable, 
to  be  the  proper  object  of  efteem,  is  by  every  well- 
difpofed  mind  more  valued  than  all  the  eafe  and  fecu- 
rity which  love,  refpect,  and  efteem  can  procure  us  \ 
That,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  odious,  to  be  contempti- 
ble, to  be  the  proper  object  of  indignation,  is  more 
dreadful  than  all  that  we  can  fuffer  in  our  body  from 
hatred,  contempt,  or  indignation  •,  and  that  confe- 
quently  our  defire  of  the  one  character,  and  our  aver- 
fion to  the  other,  cannot  arile  from  any  regard  to  the 
effects  which  either  of  them  is  likely  to  produce  upon 
the  body. 

This  fyftem  is,  no  doubt,  altogether  inconfiftent 
with  that  which  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  efta- 
blifh.  It  is  not  difficult,  however,  to  difcover  from 
what  phafis,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  from  what  particular 
view  or  afpect  of  nature,  this  account  of  things  de- 
rives its  probability.     By  the  wife  contrivance  of  the 

Author 


3i8  O/Systems  Part  VI. 

Author  of  nature,  virtue  is  upon  all  ordinary  occafi- 
ons,  ever,  with  regard  to  this  lifey  real  wifdom,  and 
the  fureft  and  readied  means  of  obtaining  both  fafety 
and  advantage.     Our  fuccefs  or  difappointment  in 
our  undertakings  muft  very  much  depend  upon  the 
good  or  bad  opinion  which  is  commonly  entertained 
of  us,  and  upon  the  general  difpofuion  of  thofe  we 
live  with,  either  to  affift  or  to  oppofe  us.     But  the 
belt,   the  fureft,  the  eafieft,   and  the  readied  way  of 
obtaining  the  advantageous  and  of  avoiding  the  un- 
favourable judgments  of  others,   is  undoubtedly  to 
render  ourfelves  the  proper  objects  of  the  former  and 
not  of  the  latter.     "  Do  you  dtiiic,  faid  Socrates, 
"  the  reputation  of  a  good  mufician  ?  The  only  fure 
"  way  of  obtaining  it,  is  to  become  a  good  mufician. 
"  Would  you  defire  in  the  fame  manner  to  be  thought 
"  capable  of  ferving  your  country  either  as  a  general 
"  or  as  a  ftatefman  ?  The  bed  way  in  this  cafe  too 
"  is  really  to  acquire  the  art  and  experience  of  war 
"  and  government,  and  to  become  really  fit  to  be  a 
"  general  or  a  ftatefman.     And  in  the  fame  manner 
"if you  would  be  reckoned  fober,  temperate,  ju ft, 
M  and  equitable,  the  beft  way  of  acquiring  this  re- 
**  putation  is  to  become  fober,   temperate,  juft,  and 
"  equitable.     If  you  can  really  render  yourfelf  amia- 
"  ble,  refpectable,  and  the  proper  object  of  efteem, 
"  there  is  no  fear  of  your  not  foon  acquiring  the  love, 
"  the  refpect,  and  efteem  of  thofe  you   live  with." 
Since  the  practice  of  virtue,  therefore,  is  in  general 
fo  advantageous,  and  that  of  vice  lb  contrary  to  our 
intereft,  the  confideration  of  thofe  oppofite  tenden- 
cies undoubtedly  flamps  an  additional   beauty  and 
propriety  upon   the  one,  and  a  new  deformity  and 
impropriety   upon  tfre  other.      Temperance,  mag- 
nanimitv,  juftice,    and   beneficence,  come   thus  to 

be 


Sed.  II.         of  Moral   Philosophy.        319 

be  approved  of,  not  only  under  their  proper  charac- 
ters, but  under  the  additional  character  of  the  higheft 
wifdom  and  mod  real  prudence.     And  in  the  fame 
manner  the  contrary  vices  of  intemperance,  pufilla- 
nimity,   injuftice,   and  either  malevolence  or  fordid 
felfifhnefs,  come  to  be  difapproved  of,  not  only  un- 
der their  proper  characters,  but  under  the  additional 
character  of  the  moft  fhort-fighted  folly  and  weak- 
nefs.     Epicurus  appears  in  every  virtue  to  have  at- 
tended to  this  fpecies  of  propriety  only.     It  is  that 
which   is  moft  apt  to  occur  to  thofe  who  are  endea- 
vouring to  perfuade  others  to  regularity  of  conduct. 
When    men  by   their   practice,   and  perhaps  too  by 
their  maxims,  manifeftly  fhow  that  the  natural  beauty 
of  virtue  is  not  like  to  have  much  effect  upon  them, 
how  is  it  poflible  to  move  them  but  by  reprefenting 
the  folly  of  their  conduct,  and  how  much  they  them- 
felves  are  in  the  end  likely  to  fuffer  by  it  ? 

By  running  up  all  the  different  virtues  too  to  this 
one  fpecies  of  propriety,  Epicurus  indulged  a  propen- 
fity,  which  is  natural  to  all  men,  but  which  philofo- 
phers  in  particular  are  apt  to  cultivate  with  a  pecu- 
liar fondnefs,  as  the  great   means  of  difplaying  their 
ingenuity,  the  propenfity  to   account  for  all  appear- 
ances from  as  few   principles  as  poflible.     And  he, 
no  doubt,  indulged  this  propenfity  flill  further,  when 
he  referred  all  the  primary  objects  of  natural  defire 
and  averfion  to  the  pleafures  and  pains  of  the  body. 
The  great  patron  of  the  atomical  philofophy,  who 
took  fo  much  pleafure  in  deducing  all  the  powers  and 
qualities  of  bodies  from  the  moft  obvious  and  fami- 
liar,   the   figure,   motion,  and  arrangement  of  the 
fmall  parts  of  matter,  felt  no  doubt  a   fimilar    fatis- 
kction,  when  he  accounted,  in  the  fame  manner,  for 

all 


3'2o  Of  S  y  s  t  £  u  a  Part  VI. 

all  the  fentiments  and  pafiions  of  the  mind  from  thofe 
which  are  molt  obvious  and  familiar. 

The  fyftem  of  Epicurus  agreed  with  thofe  of  Pla- 
to, Arifiotle,  and  Zeno,  in  making  virtue  confift  in 
acting  in  the  mod  fuitable  manner  to  obtain  the  * 
primary  objects  of  natural  defire.  It  differed  from 
all  of  them  in  two  other  refpects  ;  firit,  in  the  account 
which  it  gave  of  thofe  primary  objects  of  natural  de- 
lire;  and  fecondly,  in  the  account  which  it  gave  of 
the  excellence  of  virtue,  or  of  the  reafon  why  thai: 
quality  ought  to  be  efteemed. 

The  primary  objects  of  natural  defire  confided, 
according  to  Epicurus,  in  bodily  pleafure  and  pain, 
and  in  nothing  elfe  :  whereas,  according  to  the  other 
three  philofophers,  there  were  many  other  objects, 
fuch  as  knowledge,  fuch  as  the  happinefs  of  our  re- 
lations, of  our  friends,  of  our  country,  which  were 
ultimately  defirable  for  their  own  fakes. 

Virtue  too,  according  to  Epicurus,  did  not  deferve 
to  be  purfued  for  its  own  fake,  nor  was  itfelf  one 
of  the  ultimate  objects  of  natural  appetite,  but  was 
eligible  only  upon  account  of  its  tendency  to  prevent 
pain  and  to  procure  eafe  and  pleafure.  In  the  opinion 
of  the  other  three,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  defirable, 
not  merely  as  the  means  of  procuring  the  other  pri- 
mary objects  of  natural  defire,  but  as  fomething 
which  was  in  itfelf  more  valuable  than  them  all. 
Man,  they  thought,  being  born  for  adion,  his  hap- 
pinefs mult  confift,  not  merely  in  the  agreeablenefs 
of  hispaffive  fenfations,  but  alfo  in  the  propriety  of 
his  active  exertions. 

CHAP. 

*  Prima  naturse. 


Sect.  Ik        of  Moral  Philosophy^         p,i 


CHAP.     III. 

Of  thofe  fyftems   tvhicb  make  virtue    conjift  in  bene- 
volence. 


JL  H  E  fyfiem  which  makes  virtue  confift  in  bene- 
volence, though  I  think  not  fo  ancient  as  all  of  thofe 
which  I  have  already  given  an  account  of,  is,  how- 
ever, of  very  great  antiquity.  It  feems  to  have  been 
the  doctrine  of  the  greater  part  of  thofe  philofophers 
who,  about  and  after  the  age  of  Auguftus,  called 
themfelves  Eclectics,  who  pretended  to  follow  chiefly 
the  opinions  of  Plato  and  Pythagoras,  and  who  upon 
that  account  are  commonly  known  by  the  name  of 
the  later  Platonifts; 

In  the  divine  nature,  according  td  thefe  authors, 
benevolence  or  love  was  the  fole  principle  of  action* 
and  directed  the  exertion  of  all  the  other  attributes. 
The  wifdom  of  the  Deity  was  employed  in  finding 
out  the  means  for  bringing  about  thofe  ends  which 
his  goodnefs  fuggefted,  as  his  infinite  power  was  ex- 
erted to  execute  them.  Benevolence,  however*  was 
ltill  the  fupreme  and  governing  attribute*  to  which 
the  others  were  fubfervient,  and  from  which  the  whole 
excellency,  or  the  whole  morality,  if  I  may  be  al- 
lowed fuch  an  expreflion,  of  the  divine  operations* 
was  ultimately  derived.  The  whole  perfection  and 
virtue  of  the  human  mind  confided  in  fome  refem- 
blance  or  participation  of  the  divine  perfections,  and, 
confequently,  in  being  filled  with  the  fame  principle 

Y  it 


322  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VL 

of  benevolence  and  love  which  influenced  all  the  acti- 
ons of  the  deity.  The  actions  of  men  which  flowed 
from  this  motive  were  alone  truly  praife- worthy,  or 
could  claim  any  merit  in  the  fight  of  the  deity.  It 
was  by  actions  of  charity  and  love  only  that  we 
could  imitate,  as  became  us,  the  conduct  of  God, 
that  we  could  exprefs  our  humble  and  devout  admi- 
ration of  his  infinite  perfections,  that  by  foftering  in 
our  own  minds  the  fame  divine  principle,  we  could 
bring  our  own  affections  to  a  greater  refemblance 
with  his  holy  attributes,  and  thereby  become  more 
proper  objects  of  his  love  and  efteem  j  till  at  laft  we 
arrived  at  that  immediate  converfe  and  communica- 
tion with  the  deity  to  which  it  was  the  great  object  of 
this  philofophy  to  raife  us. 

This  fyflem,  as  it  was  much  efteemed  by  many 
ancient  fathers  of  the  chriftian  church,  fo  aftw  the 
reformation  it  was  adopted  by  feveral  divines  of  the 
moft  eminent  piety  and  learning,  and  of  the  moft 
amiable  manners ;  particularly,  by  Dr.  Ralph  Cud- 
worth,  by  Dr.  Henry  More,  and  by  Mr.  John  Smith 
of  Cambridge.  But  of  all  the  patrons  of  this  fyflem, 
ancient  or  modern,  the  late  Dr.  Hutchefon,  was  un- 
doubtedly beyond  all  comparifon,  the  moft:  acute, 
the  moft  diftinct,  the  moft  philofophical,  and  what 
is  of  th£  greateft  confequence  of  all,  the  fobereft  and 
moft  judicious. 

That  virtue  confifts  in  benevolence  is  a  notion 
fupported  by  many  appearances  in  human  nature* 
It  has  been  obferved  already  that  proper  benevo- 
lence is  the  moft  graceful  and  agreeable  of  all  the 
affections,  that  iuis  recommended  to  us  by  a  double 
fympathy,  that  as  its  tendency  is  necefTarily  benefi- 
cent, 


Sect.  II.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         32-3 

cent,  it  is  the  proper  object  of  gratitude  and  reward, 
and  that  upon  all  thefe  accounts  it  appears  to  our 
natural  fentiments  to  poffefs  a  merit  fuperior  to  any 
other.  It  has  been  obferved  too  that  even  the  weak- 
nefTes  of  benevolence  are  not  very  difagreeable  to  us, 
whereas  thofe  of  every  other  paffion  are  always  ex- 
tremely difgufting.  Who  does  not  abhor  exceflive 
malice,  exceflive  felfifhnefs,  or  exceflive  refentment  ? 
But  the  moft  exceflive  indulgence  even  of  partial 
friendfhip  is  not  fo  offenfive.  It  is  the  benevolent 
paflions  only  which  can  exert  themfelves  without 
any  regard  or  attention  to  propriety,  and  yet  retain 
fomething  about  them  which  is  engaging.  There  is 
fomething  pleafing  even  in  mere  inftinctive  good- 
will which  goes  on  to  do  good  offices  without  once 
reflecting  whether  by  this  conduct  it  is  the  proper 
object  either  of  blame  or  approbation.  It  is  not  fa 
with  the  other  paflions.  The  moment  they  are  de- 
ferted,  the  moment  they  arc  unaccompanied  by  the 
fenfe  of  propriety,  they  ceafe  to  be  agreeable. 

As  benevolence  beftows  upon  thofe  actions  which 
proceed  from  it,  a  beauty  fuperior  to  all  others,  fo 
the  want  of  it,  and  much  more  the  contrary  inclina* 
tion,  communicates  a  peculiar  deformity  to  whatever 
evidences  fuch  a  difpofnion.  Pernicious  actions  are 
often  punifhable  for  no  other  reafon  than  becaufe  they 
fhow  a  want  of  fufficient  attention  to  the  happinefs 
of  our  neighbour. 

Befides  all  this,  Dr.  Hutchefon  *  obferved,  that 

whenever  in  any  action,  fuppofed  to  proceed  from 

benevolent   affections,  fome  other  motive  had  been 

Y  2  discovered* 

*  See  Inquiry  concerning  virtue,  feet.  1,  *nd  **. 


324  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

difcovered,  our  fenfe  of  the  merit  of  this  action  was 
juft  fo  far  diminifhed  as  this  motive  was  believed  to 
have  influenced  it.  If  an  action,  fuppofed  to  proceed 
from  gratitude,  fhould  be  difcovered  to  have  arifen  from 
an  expectation  of  fome  new  favour,  or  if  what  was 
apprehended  to  proceed  from  public  fpirit,  mould  be 
found  out  to  have  taken  its  origin  from  the  hope  of 
a  pecuniary  reward,  fuch  a  difcovery  would  entirely 
deftroy  all  notion  of  merit  or  praife-worthinefs  in 
either  of  thefe  actions.  Since,  therefore,  the  mixture 
of  any  felfifh  motive,  like  that  of  a  bafe  alloy,  di- 
minifhed or  took  away  altogether  the  merit  which 
would  otherwife  have  belonged  to  any  action,  it  was 
evident,  he  imagined,  that  virtue  muft  confift  in  pure 
and  difinterefted  benevolence  alone. 

When  thofe  actions,  on  the  contrary,  which  are 
commonly  fuppofed  to  proceed  from  a  felfifh  motive, 
are  difcovered  to  have  arifen  from  a  benevolent  one, 
it  greatly  enhances  our  fenfe  of  their  merit.  If  we 
believed  of  any  perfon  that  he  endeavoured  to  ad- 
vance his  fortune  from  no  other  view  but  that  of  do- 
ing friendly  offices,  and  of  making  proper  returns  to 
his  benefactors,  we  fhould  only  love  and  efteem  him 
the  more.  And  this  obfervation  feemed  (till  more  to 
confirm  the  conclufion,  that  it  was  benevolence  only 
which  could  ftamp  upon  any  action  the  character  of 
virtue. 

Laft  of  all,  what,  he  imagined,  was  an  evident 
proof  of  the  juftnefs  of  this  account  of  virtue,  in  all 
the  difputes  of  cafuifts  concerning  the  rectitude  of 
conduct,  the  public  good,  he  obferved,  was  the 
ftandard  to  whicl>  they  conftantly  referred ;  thereby 
univerfally  acknowledging  that  whatever  tended  to 

promote 


Sect.  IT.        c/  Moral  Philosophy.  325 

promote  the  happinefs  of  mankind  was  right  and 
laudable  and  virtuous,  and  the  contrary,  wrong, 
blameable,  and  vicious.  In  the  late  debates  about 
pafilve  obedience  and  the  right  of  refiftance,  the  fole 
point  in  controverfy  among  men  of  fenfe  was,  whe- 
ther univerfal  fubmifiion  would  probably  be  attended 
with  greater  evils  than  temporary  infurre&ions  when 
privileges  were  invaded.  Whether  what,  upon  the 
whole,  tended  moft  to  the  happinefs  of  mankind, 
was  not  alfo  morally  good,  was  never  once,  he  faid, 
made  a  queftion. 

Since  benevolence,  ther  efore,  was  the  only  mo- 
tive which  could  beftow  upon  any  action  the  charac- 
ter of  virtue,  the  greater  the  benevolence  which  was 
evidenced  by  any  action,  the  greater  the  praife  which 
mull  belong  to  it. 

Thofe  actions  which  aimed  at  the  happinefs  of  a 
great  community,  as  they  demonftrated  a  more  en- 
larged benevolence  than  thofe  which  aimed  only  at 
that  of  a  fmaller  fyftem,  fo  were  they,  likewife,  pro- 
portionally the  more  virtuous.  The  moft  virtuous 
of  all  affections,  therefore,  was  that  which  embraced 
as  its  object  the  happinefs  of  all  intelligent  beings. 
The  leaft  virtuous,  on  the  contrary,  of  thofe  to  which 
the  character  of  virtue  could  in  any  refpect  belong, 
was  that  which  aimed  no  further  than  at  the  happi- 
nefs of  an  individual,  fuch  as  a  fon,  a  brother,  a 
friend. 

In  directing  all  our  actions  to  promote  the  greateil 

pofTible  good,  in  fubmitting  all  inferior  affections  to 

the  defire  of  the  general  happinefs  of  mankind,  in 

regarding  ones  felf  but  as  one  of  the  many,  whofe 

Y  3  profperity 


326  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

profperity  was  to  be  purfued  no  further  than  it  was 
confident  with,  or  conducive  to  that  of  the  whole, 
confided  the,  perfection  of  virtue. 

Self-love  was  a  principle  which  could  never  be 
virtuous  in  any  degree  or  in  any  direction.  It  was 
vicious  whenever  it  obstructed  the  general  good. 
When  it  had  no  other  effect  than  to  make  the  in- 
dividual take  care  of  his  own  happinefs,  it  was  merely 
innocent,  and  tho'  it  deferved  no  praife,  neither 
ought  it  to  incur  any  blame.  Thofe  benevolent 
actions  which  were  performed,  notwithstanding  fome 
ftrong  motive  from  felf-intereft,  were  the  more  vir- 
tuous upon  that  account.  They  demonftrated  the 
ftrength  and  vigour  of  the  benevolent  principle. 

Dr.  Hutchefon  *  was  fo  far  from  allowing  felf- 
love  to  be  in  any  cafe  a  motive  of  virtuous  actions, 
that  even  a  regard  to  the  pleafure  of  felf-approbation, 
to  the  comfortable  applaufe  of  our  own  confciences, 
according  to  him,  diminifhed  the  merit  of  a  benevo- 
lent action.  This  was  a  felfifh  motive,  he  thought, 
which,  fo  far  as  it  contributed  to  any  action,  demon- 
ftrated the  weaknefs  of  that  pure  and  difinterefted 
benevolence  which  could  alone  ftamp  upon  the  con- 
duct of  man  the  character  of  virtue.  In  the  com- 
mon judgments  of  mankind,  however,  this  regard 
to  trje  approbation  of  our  own  minds  is  fo  far  from 
being  confidered  as  what  can  in  any  refpect  diminifh 
the  virtue  of  any  action,  tliat  it  is  rather  looked  upon 
as  the  fole  motive  which  deferves  the  appellation  of 
virtuous. 

Such 

*  Inquiry  concerning  virtue,  fed.  2.  art.  4.  alfo  illuftrations 
on  the  moral  fenfe,  feet.  5.  laft  paragraph. 


Se<St.  II-       of  Moral  Philosophy.        327 

Such  is  the  account  given  of  the  nature  of  virtue 
in  this  amiable  fyftem,  a  fyftem  which  has  a  peculiar 
tendency  to  nourifh  and  fupport  in  the  human  heart 
the  nobleft  and  the  molt  agreeable  of  all  affections, 
and  not  only  to  check  the  injuftice  of  felf-love,  but 
in  fome  meafure  to  difcourage  that  principle  altoge- 
ther, by  reprefenting  it  as  what  could  never  reflect 
any  honour  upon  thofe  who  were  influenced  by  it. 

As  fome  of  the  other  fyftems  which  I  have  already 
given  an  account  of,  do  not  fufficiently  explain  from 
whence  arifes  the  peculiar  excellency  of  the  fupreme 
virtue  of  beneficence,  fo  this  fyftem  feems  to  have 
the  contrary  defeft,  of  not  fufficiently  explaining 
from  whence  arifes  our  approbation  of  the  inferior 
virtues  of  prudence,  vigilance,  circumfpection,  tem- 
perance, conftancy,  firmnefs.  The  view  and  aim  of 
our  affections,  the  beneficent  and  hurtful  effects  which 
they  tend  to  produce,  are  the  only  qualities  at  all  at- 
tended to  in  this  fyftem.  Their  propriety  and  im- 
propriety, their  fuitablenefs  and  unfuitablenefs,  to 
the  caule  which  excites  them,  are  difregarded  alto- 
gether. 

Regard  to  our  own  private  happinefs  and  intereil 
too,  appear  upon  many  occafions  very  laudable  prin- 
ciples of  ad  ion.  The  habits  ofoeconomy,  induftry, 
difcretion,  attention,  and  application  of  thought, 
are  generally  fuppofed  to  be  cultivated  from  felf- 
interefted  motives,  and  at  the  fame  time  are  appre- 
hended to  be  very  praife-worthy  qualities,  which  de- 
ferve  the  efteem  and  approbation  of  every  body. 
The  mixture  of  a  felfim  motive,  it  is  true,  feems 
often  to  fully  the  beauty  of  thofe  actions  which  ought 
Y  4  to 


3^8  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

to  arife  from  a  benevolent  affection,  The  caufe  of 
this,  however,  is  not  that  felf-love  can  never  be 
the  motive  of  a  virtuous  action,  but  that  the  bene- 
volent principle  appears  in  this  particular  cafe  to 
want  its  due  degree  of  ftrength,  and  to  be  altoge- 
ther unfuitable  to  its  object.  The  character,  there-, 
fore,  feems  evidently  imperfect,  and  upon  the  whole 
to  deferve  blame  rather  than  praife.  The  mixture 
of  a  benevolent  motive  in  an  action  to  which  felf- 
love  alone  ought  to  be  fufficient  to  prompt  us,  is 
not  fo  apt  indeed  to  diminifh  our  fenfe  of  its  propri- 
ety, or  of  the  virtue  of  the  perfon  who  performs  it. 
We  are  not  ready  to  fufpect  any  perfon  of  being  de- 
fective in  felHfhnefs.  This  is  by  no  means  the  weak 
fide  of  human  nature,  or  the  failing  of  which  we 
are  apt  to  be  fufpicious.  If  we  could  really  believe, 
however,  of  any  man,  that,  was  it  not  from  a  regard 
to  his  family  and  friends,  he  would  not  take  that 
proper  care  of  his  health,  his  life,  or  his  fortune,  to 
which  felf-prefervation  alone  ought  to  be  fufficient  to 
prompt  him,  it  would  undoubtedly  be  a  failing,  thos 
one  of  thofe  amiable  failings,  which  render  a  perfon 
rather  the  object  of  pity  than  of  contempt  or  hatred. 
It  would  ftill,  however,  fomewhat  diminifh  the  dig- 
nity and  refpectablenefs  of  his  character.  Carelefs- 
nefs  and  want  of  ceconomy  are  univerfally  difap- 
proved  of,  not,  however  as  proceeding  from  a  want 
of  benevolence,  but  from  a  want  of  the  proper  at- 
tention to  the  objects  of  felf-intereft. 

Though  the  ftandard  by  which  cafuifts  fre- 
quently determine  what  is  right  or  wrong  in  human 
conduct,  be  its  tendency  to  the  welfare  or  diforder 
of  fociety,  it  does  not  follow  that  a  regard  to  the 

welfare 


Se6t.  II,        of  Moral  Philosophy.  329 

welfare  of  fociety  fhould  be  the  fole  virtuous  motive 
of  action,  but  only  that,  in  any  competition,  it 
ought  to  cart  the  balance  againft  all  other  motives. 

Benevolence  may,  perhaps,  be  the  fole  principle 
of  action  in  the  Deity,  and  there  are  feveral,  not  im- 
probable, arguments  which  tend  to  perfuade  us  that 
it  is  fo.  It  is  not  eafy  to  conceive  what  other  motive 
an  independent  and  all  perfect  being,  who  (lands  in 
need  of  nothing  external,  and  whofe  happinefs  is 
complete  in  himfelf,  can  act  from.  But  whatever 
may  be  the  cafe  with  the  Deity,  fo  imperfect  a  crea- 
ture as  man,  the  fupport  of  whofe  exiftence  requires 
fo  many  things  external  to  him,  muft  often  act  from 
many  other  motives.  The  condition  of  human  na- 
ture were  peculiarly  hard,  if  thofe  affections,  which, 
by  the  very  nature  of  our  being,  ought  frequently  to 
influence  our  conduct,  could  upon  no  occafion  appear 
virtuous,  or  deferve  efteem  and  commendation  from 
any  body. 

Thofe  three  fyftems,  that  which  places  virtue  in 
propriety,  that  which  places  it  in  prudence,  and 
that  which  makes  it  confift  in  benevolence,  are  the 
principal  accounts  which  have  been  given  of  the  na- 
ture of  virtue.  To  one  or  other  of  them,  all  the 
other  defcriptions  of  virtue,  how  different  foever  they 
may  appear,  are  eafily  reducible. 

That  fyftem  which  places  virtue  in  obedience  to 
the  will  of  the  Deity,  may  be  counted  either  among 
thpfe  which  make  it  confift  in  prudence,  or  among 
thofe  which  make  it  confift  in  propriety.  When  it  is 
afked,  why  we  ought  to  obey  the  will  of  the  Deity, 
this  queftion,  which  would  be  impious  and  abfurd 
in  the  higheft  degree,  if  afked  from  any  doubt  that 

we 


330  O/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI. 

we  ought  to  obey  him,  can  admit  but  of  two  differ- 
ent anfwers.  It  muft  either  be  faid  that  we  ought  to 
obey  the  will  of  the  Deity  becaufe  he  is  a  being  of 
infinite  power,  who  will  reward  us  eternally  if  we  do 
fo,  and  punifh  us  eternally  if  we  do  otherwife :  Or 
it  mull  be  faid,  that  independent  of  any  regard  to  our 
own  happinefs,  or  to  rewards  and  punifhments  of 
any  kind,  there  is  a  congruity  and  fitnefs  that  a  crea- 
ture fliould  obey  its  creator,  that  a  limited  and  imper- 
fect being  mould  fubmit  to  one  of  infinite  and  in- 
comprehenfible  perfections.  Befides  one  or  other  of 
thefe  two  it  is  impofiible  to  conceive  that  any  other 
anfwer  can  be  given  to  this  queftion.  If  the  firft  an- 
fwer  be  the  proper  one,  virtue  confifts  in  prudence, 
or  in  the  proper  purfuit  of  our  own  final  intereft  and 
happinefs;  fince  it  is  upon  this  account  that  we  are 
obliged  to  obey  the  will  of  the  Deity.  If  the  fecond 
anfwer  be  the  proper  one,  virtue  muft  confift  in  pro- 
priety, fince  the  ground  of  our  obligation  to  obedi- 
ence is  the  fuitablenefs  or  congruity  of  the  fentiments 
of  humility  and  fubmiflion  to  the  fuperiority  of  the 
object  which  excites  them. 

That  fyftem  which  places  virtue  in  utility  coincides 
too  with  that  which  makes  it  confift  in  propriety. 
According  to  this  fyftem  all  thofe  qualities  of  the 
mind*  which  are  agreeable  or  advantageous,  either  to 
the  perfon  himfelf  or  to  others,  are  approved  of  as 
virtuous,  and  the  contrary  difapproved  of  as  vicious. 
But  the  agreeablenefs  or  utility  of  any  affection  de- 
pends upon  the  degree  which  it  is  allowed  to  fubfift 
in.  Every  affection  is  ufeful  when  it  is  confined  to 
a  certain  degree  of  moderation  •,  and  every  affection 
is  difadvantageous  when  it  exceeds  the  proper  bounds. 
According  to  this  fyftem  therefore,  virtue  confifts, 

not 


Sect.  IL         of  Moral  Philosophy.        331 

not  in  any  one  affection,  but  in  the  proper  degree  of 
all  the  affections.  The  only  difference  between  it 
and  that  which  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  eftablifh, 
is,  that  it  makes  utility,  and  not  fympathy,  or  the 
correfpondent  affection  of  the  fpectator,  the  natural 
and  original  meafure  of  this  proper  degree. 


CHAP.     IV. 

Of  licentious  fyftems. 


A 


L  L  thofe  fyftems,  which  I  have  hitherto  given 
an  account  of,  fuppofe  that  there  is  a  real  and  effen  ■• 
tial  diftinction  between  vice  and  virtue,  whatever 
thefe  qualities  may  confift  in.  There  is  a  real  and 
effential  difference  between  the  propriety  and  impro- 
priety of  any  affection,  between  benevolence  and  any 
other  principle  of  action,  between  real  prudence  and 
fhort- lighted  folly  or  precipitate  raihnefs.  In  the 
main  too  all  of  them  contribute  to  encourage  the 
praife- worthy,  and  to  difcourage  the  blameable  dif- 
pofuion. 

It  may  be  true  perhaps,  of  fome  of  them,  that 
they  tend,  in  fome  meafure,  to  break  the  balance 
of  the  affections,  and  to  give  the  mind  a  particular 
bias  to  fome  principles  of  action,  beyond  the  pro- 
portion that  is  due  to  them.  The  ancient  fyftems 
which  place  virtue  in  propriety,  feem  chiefly  to  re- 
commend the  great,  the  awful,  and  the  refpectable 
virtues,  the  virtues  of  felf-government  and  felf- 
command  •,  fortitude,  magnanimity,  independency 
upon  fortune,  the  contempt  of  all  outward  accidents, 
of  pain,  poverty,  exile,   and  death.     It  is   in  thefe 

great 


3$z  0/  Systems      ,  Part  VI. 

great  exertions  that  the  nobleft  propriety  of  conduct 
is  difplayed.  The  foft,  the  amiable,  the  gentle  vir- 
tues, all  the  virtues  of  indulgent  humanity  are,  in 
comparifon,  but  little  infifted  upon,  and  feem,  on 
the  contrary,  by  the  Stoics  in  particular,  to  have 
been  often  regarded  as  mere  weaknefTes  which  it  be- 
hoved a  wife  man  not  to  harbour  in  his  bread. 

The  benevolent  fyftem,  on  the  other  hand,  while 
it  fofters  and  encourages  all  thofe  milder  virtues  in 
the  higheft  degree,  feems  entirely  to  neglect  the  more 
awful  and  refpectable  qualities  of  the  mind.  It  even 
denies  them  the  appellation  of  virtues.  It  calls  them 
moral  abilities,  and  treats  them  as  qualities  which  do 
not  delerve  the  fame  fort  of  efteem  and  approbation, 
that  is  due  to  what  is  properly  denominated  virtue. 
All  thofe  principles  of  action  which  aim  only  at  our 
own  intereft,  it  treats,  if  that  be  pofiible,  ftill  worfe. 
So  far  from  having  any  merit  of  their  own,  they  di- 
minifh,  it  pretends,  the  merit  of  benevolence,  when 
they  co-operate  with  it :  and  prudence,  it  is  afferted, 
when  employed  only  in  promoting  private  intereft, 
can  never  even  be  imagined  a  virtue. 

That  fyftem,  again,  which  makes  virtue  confift 
in  prudence  only,  while  it  gives  the  higheft  encou- 
ragement to  the  habits  of  caution,  vigilance,  fobrieiy, 
and  judicious  moderation,  feems  to  degrade  equally 
both  the  amiable  and  refpedtable  virtues,  and  to 
ftrip  the  former  of  all  their  beauty,  and  the  latter  of 
all  their  grandeur. 

But  notwithftanding  thefe  defects,  the  general  ten- 
dency of  each  of  thofe  three  fyftems  is  to  encourage 
the  beft  and  moft  laudable  habits  of  the  human  mind  : 

and 


Sect.  II.       of  Moral  Philosophy.  333 

and  it  were  well  for  fociety,  if,  either  mankind  in 
general,  or  even  thofe  few  who  pretend  to  live  ac- 
cording to  any  philofophical  rule,  were  to  regulate 
their  conduct  by  the  precepts  of  any  one  of  them. 
We  may  learn  from  each  of  them  fomething  that  is 
both  valuable  and  peculiar.  If  it  was  pofiible,  by 
precept  and  exhortation,  to  infpire  the  mind  with 
fortitude  and  magnanimity,  the  ancient  fyftems  of 
propriety  would  feem  fufEcient  to  do  this.  Or  if  it 
was  poflible,  by  the  fame  means,  to  foften  it  into 
humanity,  and  to  awaken  the  affections  of  kindnefs 
and  general  love  towards  thofe  we  live  with,  fome 
of  the  pictures  with  which  the  benevolent  fyftem  pre- 
fents  us,  might  feem  capable  of  producing  this  ef- 
fect. We  may  learn  from  the  fyftem  of  Epicurus, 
though  undoubtedly  the  worft  of  all  the  three,  how 
much  the  practice  of  both  the  amiable  and  refpecta- 
ble  virtues  is  conducive  to  our  own  intereft,  to  our 
own  eafe  and  fafety  and  quiet  even  in  this  life.  As 
Epicurus  placed  happinefs  in  the  attainment  of  eafe 
and  fecurity,  he  exerted  himfelf  in  a  particular  man- 
ner to  (how  that  virtue  was,  not  merely  the  befl  and 
the  fureft,  but  the  only  means  of  acquiring  thofe  in- 
valuable pofifeflions.  The  good  effects  of  virtue, 
upon  our  inward  tranquility  and  peace  of  mind,  are 
what  other  philofophers  have  chiefly  celebrated.  Epi- 
curus, without  neglecting  this  topic,  has  chiefly  in- 
filled upon  the  influence  of  that  amiable  quality  on 
our  outward  profperity  and  fafety.  It  was  upon  this 
account  that  his  writings  were  fo  much  ftudied  in  the 
ancient  world  by  men  of  all  different  philofophical 
parties.  It  is  from  him  that  Cicero,  the  great  enemy 
of  the  Epicurean  fyftem,  borrows  his  mod  agreeable 
proofs  that  virtue  alone  is  fufficient  to  fecure  happi- 
nefs.    Seneca,  though  a  Stoic,  the  feet  mod  oppo- 


334  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VL 

fite  to  that  of  Epicurus,  yet  quotes  this  philofopher 
more  frequently  than  any  other. 

There  are,  however,  fome  other  fyftems  which 
ieem  to  take  away  altogether  the  diftin&ion  between 
vice  and  virtue,  and  of  which  the  tendency  is,  upon 
that  account,  wholly  pernicious:  I  mean  the  fyftems 
of  the  duke  of  Rochefoucault  and  Dr.  Mandeville. 
Though  the  notions  of  both  thefe  authors  are  in  al- 
mod  every  refpect  erroneous,  there  are,  however, 
fome  appearances  in  human  nature  which,  when 
viewed  in  a  certain  manner,  feem  at  firft  fight  to  fa- 
vour them.  Thefe,  firft  flightly  fketched  out  with 
the  elegance  and  delicate  precifion  of  the  duke  of 
Rochefoucault,  and  afterwards  more  fully  repre- 
fented  with  the  lively  and  humorous,  though  coarfe 
and  ruftic  eloquence  of  Dr.  Mandeville,  have  thrown 
upon  their  doctrines  an  air  of  truth  and  probability 
which  is  very  apt  to  impofe  upon  the  unfkilful. 

Dr.  Mandeville,  the  mod  methodical  of  thofe 
two  authors,  confiders  whatever  is  done  from  a  fenfe 
of  propriety,  from  a  regard  to  what  is  commendable 
and  praife-worthy,  as  being  done  from  a  love  of 
praife  and  commendation,  or  as  he  calls  it  from  va- 
nity. Man,  he  obferves,  is  naturally  much  more 
interefted  in  his  own  happinefs  than  in  that  of  others, 
and  it  is  impoiliblethat  in  his  heart  he  can  ever  really 
prefer  their  profperity  to  his  own.  Whenever  he  ap- 
pears to  do  fo,  we  may  be  aflured  that  he  impofes 
upon  us,  and  that  he  is  then  acting  from  the  fame 
felfifti  motives  as  at  all  other  times.  Among  his 
other  felfifti  paflions,  vanity  is  one  of  the  ftrongeft, 
and  he  is  always  eafily  flattered  and  greatly  delighted 
with  the  applaufes  of  thofe  about  him. ,  When  he 

appears 


Sect.  II.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         335 

appears  to  facrifice  his  own  intereft  to  that  of  his 
companions,  he  knows  that  this  conduct  will  be 
highly  agreeable  to  their  felf-love,  and  that  they  will 
not  fail  to  exprefs  their  fatisfaction  by  bellowing  up- 
on him  the  moil  extravagant  praifes.  The  pleafure 
which,  he  expects  from  this,  over- balances,  in  his 
opinion,  the  intereft  which  he  abandons  in  order  to 
procure  it.  His  conduct,  therefore,  upon  this  oc- 
cafion,  is  in  reality  juft  as  felfifh,  and  arifes  from  juft 
as  mean  a  motive  as  upon  any  other.  He  is  flatter- 
ed, however,  and  he  flatters  himfelf  with  the  belief 
that  it  is  entirely  difmterefted  •,  fince,  unlefs  this  was 
fuppofed,  it  would  not  feem  to  merit  any  commenda- 
tion either  in  his  own  eyes  or  in  thole  of  others.  All 
public  fpirit,  therefore,  all  preference  of  public  to 
private  intereft,  is,  according  to  him  a  mere  cheat 
and  impofition  upon  mankind  -,  and  that  human  vir- 
tue which  is  fo  much  boafted  of,  and  which  is  the 
occafion  of  fo  much  emulation  among  men,  is  the 
mere  offspring  of  flattery  begot  upon  pride. 

Whether  the  mod  generous  and  public  fpirited 
actions  may  not,  in  fome  fenfe,  be  regarded  as  pro- 
ceeding from  felf-love,  I  fhall  not  at  prefent  exa- 
mine. The  decifion  of  this  queftion  is  not,  I  appre- 
hend, of  any  importance  towards  eftablifhing  the 
reality  of  virtue,  fince  felf-love  may  frequently  be  a 
virtuous  motive  of  action.  I  fhall  only  endeavour  to 
(how  that  the  defire  of  doing  what  is  honourable  and 
noble,  of  rendering  ourfelves  the  proper  objects  of 
efteem  and  approbation,  cannot  with  any  propriety 
be  called  vanity.  Even  the  love  of  well-grounded 
fame  and  reputation,  the  defire  of  acquiring  efteem 
by  what  is  really  eftimable,  does  not  deferve  that 
name.     The  firft  is  the  love  of  virtue,  the  nobleft 

and 


33$  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

and  the  bed  paflion  of  human  nature.  The  fecond 
is  the  love  of  true  glory,  a  paflion  inferior  no  doubt 
to  the  former,  but  which  in  dignity  appears  to  come 
immediately  after  it.  He  is  guilty  of  vanity  who  de- 
fires  praife  for  qualities  which  are  either  not  praife- 
worthy  in  any  degree,  or  not  in  that  degree  which 
he  expects  to  be  praifed  for  them  ;  who  fees  his  cha- 
racter upon  the  frivolous  ornaments  of  drefs  and 
equipage,  or  the  equally  frivolous  accompiifhments 
of  ordinary  behaviour.  He  is  guilty  of  vanity  who 
defires  praife  for  what  indeed  very  well  deferves  it, 
but  what  he  perfectly  knows  does  not  belong  to  him. 
The  empty  coxcomb  who  gives  himfelf  airs  of  im- 
portance which  he  has  no  title  to,  the  filly  liar  who 
aflumes  the  merit  of  adventures  which  never  happen- 
ed, the  foolifh  plagiary  who  gives  himfelf  out  for  the 
author  of  what  he  has  no  pretenfions  to,  are  properly 
accufed  of  this  paflion.  He  too  is  faid  to  be  guilty 
of  vanity  who  is  not  contented  with  the  filent  fenti- 
ments  of  edeem  and  approbation,  who  feems  to  be 
fonder  of  their  noify  expreflions  and  acclamations 
than  of  the  fentiments  themfelves,  who  is  never  fatis- 
iied  but  when  his  own  praifes  are  ringing  in  his  ears, 
and  whofolicits  with  the  mod  anxious  importunity  all 
external  marks  of  refpect,  is  fond  of  titles,  of  compli- 
ments, of  being  vifited,  of  being  attended,  of  being 
taken  notice  of  in  public  places  with  the  appearance  of 
deference  and  attention.  This  frivolous  paflion  is  al- 
together different  from  either  of  the  two  former,  and 
is  the  paflion  of  the  lowed,  and  the  lead  of  mankind, 
as  they  are  of  the  nobled  and  the  greated. 

But  though  thefe  three  paflions,  the  defire  of  ren- 
dering ourfelves  tl^e  proper  objects  of  honour  and 
edeem ;    or  of  becQming  what  is  honourable  and 

eftimablei 


Sect.  II.         of  Moral  Philosophy.         337 

eftimable  ;  the  defire  of  acquiring  honour  and  efteem 
by  really  defer ving  thofe  fentirnents  ;  and  the  frivo- 
lous defire  of  praife  at  any  rate,  are  widely  different ; 
though   the    two  former    are  always  approved  of, 
while  the  latter  never  fails  to  be  defpifed ;  there  is, 
however,    a    certain    remote  affinity   among   them, 
which,  exaggerated  by  the  humorous  and  diverting 
eloquence  of  this  lively  author,  has  enabled  him  to 
impofe  upon  his  readers.     There  is  an  affinity  be- 
tween vanity  and  the  love  of  true  glory,  as  both  thefe 
paffions  aim  at   acquiring  efteem   and  approbation. 
But  they  are  different  in  this,  that  the  one  is  a  juft, 
reafonable,  and  equitable  paffion,  while  the  other  is 
unjufl,   abfurd,    and  ridiculous.     The  man  who  de- 
fires  efteem  for  what  is  really  eftimable,  defires  no- 
thing but  what  he  is  juftly  entitled  to,  and  what  can- 
not be  refufed  him  without  fome  fort  of  injury.    He, 
on  the  contrary,  who  defires  it  upon  any  other  terms, 
demands  what  he  has  no  juft  claim  to.     The  firft  is 
eafily  fatisfied,  is  not  apt  to  be  jealous  or  fufpicious 
that  we  do  not  efteem  him  enough,  and  is  feldom  fo- 
licitous  about  receiving  many  external  marks  of  our 
regard.     The  other,  on  the  contrary,  is  never  to  be 
fatisfied,  is  full  of  jealoufy  and  fufpicion  that  we  do 
not  efteem  him  fo  much  as  he  defires,  becaufe  he  has 
fome  fecret  confcioufnefs  that  he  defires  more  than  he 
deferves.     The  leaft  neglect  of  ceremony,  he  confi- 
ders  as  a  mortal  affront,  and  as  an  expreffion  of  the 
moft  determined   contempt.     He  is  reftlefs  and  im- 
patient, and  perpetually  afraid  that  we  have  loft  all 
refpect  for  him,    and   is   upon   this  account  always 
anxious  to   obtain   new  expreflions  of  efteem,  and 
cannot  be  kept  in  temper  but  by  continual  atten- 
dance and  adulation, 

Z  There 


338  O/Systems  Part  VL 

There  is  an  affinity  too  between  the  defire  of  be- 
coming what  is  honourable  and  eflimable,  and  the 
defire  of  honour  and  efleem,  between  the  love  of  vir- 
tue and  the  love  of  true  glory.     They  refemble  one 
another  not  only  in  this  refpect,  that  both  aim  at 
really  being  what  is  honourable  and  noble,  but  even 
in  that  refpect  in  which  the  love  of  true  glory  refem- 
bles  what  is   properly  called  vanity,  fome   reference 
to  the  fentiments  of  others.    The  man  of  the  greater! 
magnanimity,  who  defires   virtue  for  its  own  fake, 
and  is  mod  indifferent   about  what  actually  are  the 
opinions  of  mankind   with   regard  to  him,  is  flill, 
however,  delighted  with  the  thoughts  of  what  they 
ihould  be,  with   the  conicioufnefs  that   though  he 
may  neither   be  honoured  nor  applauded,  he  is  flill 
the  proper  object  of  honour  and  applaufe,  and  that 
if  mankind  were  cool  and  candid  and  confiftent  with 
themfelves,   and  properly  informed  of  the  motives 
and  circumftances   of  his  conduct,  they  would  not 
fail  to  honour  and  applaud  him.     Though  he  def- 
pifes  the  opinions  which    are  actually  entertained  of 
him,  he  has  the  higheft  value  for  thofe  which  ought 
to  be  entertained  of  him.      That   he   might  think 
himfelf  worthy   of    thofe    honourable    fentiments, 
and,    whatever    was   the    idea    which    other  men 
might   conceive    of  his    character,    that    when  he 
fhould  put    himfelf  in    their   fituation,    and    con- 
fider,  not  what   was,    but  what  ought   to  be  their 
Opinion,   he  fhould   always  have    the   higheft  idea 
of  it  himfelf,  was  the  great  and  exalted  motive  of  his 
conduct.     As  even  in  the  love  of  virtue,  therefore, 
there  is  flill  fome  reference,  though  not  to  what  is, 
yet  to  what  in  reafon  and  propriety  ought  to  be,  the 
opinion  of  others,  there  is  even  in  this  refpect  fome 
affinity  between  it,  and  the  love  of  true  glory.  There 
is,  however,  at  the  fame  time,  a  very  great  differ- 
ence 


Sect.  II.       of  Moral   Philosophy.         339 

ence  between  them.  The  man  who  acts  folely  from 
a  regard  to  what  is  right  and  fit  to  be  done,  from  a 
regard  to  what  is  the  proper  object  of  efteem  and 
approbation,  though  thefe  fentiments  mould  never  be 
beftowed  upon  him,  acts  from  the  mod  fublime  and 
godlike' motive  which  human  nature  is  even  capable 
of  conceiving.  The  man,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
while  he  defires  to  merit  approbation  is  at  the  fame 
time  anxious  to  obtain  it,  though  he  too  is  laudabk 
in  the  main,  yet  his  motives  have  a  greater  mixture 
of  human  infirmity.  He  is  in  danger  of  being  mor- 
tified by  the  ignorance  and  injultice  of  mankind,  and 
his  happineis  is  expofed  to  the  envy  of  his  rivals,  and 
the  folly  of  the  public.  The  happinefs  of  the  other, 
on  the  contrary,  is  altogether  fecure  and  independent 
of  fortune,  and  of  the  caprice  of  thofe  he  lives  with. 
The  contempt  and  hatred  which  may  be  thrown  upon 
him  by  the  ignorance  of  mankind,  he  confiders  as  not 
belonging  to  him,  and  is  not  at  all  mortified  by  it. 
Mankind  defpife  and  hate  him  from  a  falfe  notion  of 
his  character  and  conduct.  If-  they  knew  him  bet- 
ter, they  would  efteem  and  love  him.  It  is  not  him 
whom,  properly  fpeaking,  they  hate  and  defpife,  but 
another  perfon  whom  they  miftake  him  to  be.  Our 
friend,  whom  we  mould  meet  at  a  mafquerade  in 
the  garb  of  our  enemy,  would  be  more  diverted  than 
mortified,  if  under  that  difguife  we  mould  vent  our 
indignation  againft  him.  Such  are  the  fentiments  of 
a  man  of  real  magnanimity,  when  expofed  to  unjufl 
cenfure.  It  feldom  happens,  however,  that  human 
nature  arrives  at  this  degree  of  firmnefs.  Though 
none  but  the  weakeft  and  mod  worthlefs  of  man- 
kind are  much  delighted  with  falfe  glory,  yet,  by 
a  ftrange  inconfiftency,  falfe  ignominy  is  often  car 
pable  of  mortifying  thofe  who  appear  the  moft  refo- 
lute  and  determined. 

Z  2  Df. 


54°  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s       %      Part  VI. 

Dr.  Mandeville  is  not  fatisfied  with  reprefenting 
the  frivolous  motive  of  vanity,  as  the  fource  of  all 
thofe  actions  which  are  commonly  accounted  virtu- 
ous. He  endeavours  to  point  out  the  imperfection 
of  human  virtue  in  many  other  refpects.  In  every 
cafe,  he  pretends,  it  falls  fhort  of  that  complete  felf- 
denial  which  it  pretends  to,  and,  inftead  of  a  con- 
quer!:, is  commonly  no  more  than  a  concealed  indul- 
gence of  our  paffions.  Wherever  our  referve  with 
regard  to  pleafure  falls  fhortof  the  moft  afcetic  ab- 
flinence,  he  treats  it  as  grofs  luxury  and  fenfuality. 
Every  thing,  according  to  him,  is  luxury  which  ex- 
ceeds what  is  abfolutely  necerTary  for  the  fupport  of 
human  nature,  fo  that  there  is  a  vice  even  in  the  ufe 
of  a  clean  fhirt,  or  of  a  convenient  habitation.  The 
indulgence  of  the  inclination  to  fex?  in  the  moft  law- 
ful union,  he  confiders  as  the  fame  fenfuality  with 
the  moft  hurtful  gratification  of  that  paflion,  and  de- 
rides that  temperance  and  that  chaftity  which  can  be 
pradtifed  at  fo  cheap  a  rate.  The  ingenious  fophiftry 
of  his  reafoning,  is  here,  as  upon  many  other  occa- 
fions,  covered  by  the  ambiguity  of  language.  There 
are  fome  of  our  pafHons  which  have  no  other  names 
except  thofe  which  mark  the  difagreeable  and  offen- 
five  degree.  The  fpeclator  is  more  apt  to  take  no- 
tice of  them  in  this  degree  than  in  any  other.  When 
they  fhock  his  own  fentiments,  when  they  give  him 
fome  fort  of  antipathy  and  uneafinefs,  he  is  necefla- 
rily  obliged  to  attend  to  them,  and  is  from  thence 
naturally  led  to  give  them  a  name.  When  they  fall 
in  with  the  natural  ftateof  his  own  mind,  he  is  very- 
apt  to  overlook  them  altogether,  and  either  gives 
them  no  name  at  all,  or,  if  he  gives  them  any,  it  is 
one  which  marks  rather  the  fubjeclion  and  reftraint 
of  the  paflion  than  the  degree  which  it  ftill  is  allowed 

to 


Sed.  II.         0/  Moral  Philosophy.  34* 

to  fubfift  in,  after  it  is  fo  fubje&ed  and  reftrained. 
Thus  the  common  names  of  the  *  love  of  pleafure, 
and  of  the  love  of  fex,  denote  a  vicious  and  offenfive 
degree  of  thofe  paffions.  The  words  temperance 
and  chaftity,  on  the  other  hand,  feem  to  mark  rather 
the  reftraint  and  fubjection  which  they  are  kept  un- 
der, than  the  degree  which  they  are  dill  allowed 
to  fubfift  in.  When  he  can  (how,  therefore,  that 
they  dill  fubfift  in  fome  degree,  he  imagines,  he  has 
entirely  demolilhed  the  reality  of  the  virtues  of  tem- 
perance and  chaftity,  and  fhown  them  to  be  mere 
impofnions  upon  the  inattention  and  fimplicity  of 
mankind.  Thofe  virtues,  however,  do  not  require 
an  entire  infenfibility  to  the  objects  of  the  pafiions 
which  they  mean  to  govern.  They  only  aim  at  re- 
straining the  violence  of  thofe  paffions  fo  far  as  not  to 
hurt  the  individual,  and  neither  difturb  nor  offend 
the  fociety. 

It  is  the  great  fallacy  of  Dr.  Mandeville's  book  f 
to  reprefent  every  paflion  as  wholly  vicious,  which  is 
fo  in  any  degree  and  in  any  direction.  It  is  thus  that 
he  treats  every  thing  as  vanity  which  has  any  reference, 
either  to  what  are,  or  to  what  ought  to  be  the  fenti- 
ments  of  others  :  and  it  is  by  means  of  this  fophi- 
ftry,  that  he  eftablifhes  his  favourite  conclufion,  that 
private  vices  are  public  benefits.  If  the  love  of  mag- 
nificence, a  tafte  for  the  elegant  arts  and  improve- 
ments of  human  life,  for  whatever  is  agreeable  in 
drefs,  furniture,  or  equipage,  for  architecture,  ftatu- 
ary,  painting,  and  mufic,  is  to  be  regarded  as  luxury, 
fenfuality  and  oftentation,  even  in  thofe  whofe  fitu- 
ation  allows,  without  any  inconveniency,  the  indul- 

Z  3  gence 

*  Luxury  and  lull.  f  Fable  of  the  Bees, 


342  Of  Systems  Part  VI, 

gence  of  thole  paflions,  it  is  certain  that  luxury,  fen- 
iuality,  and  oftentation  are  public  benefits  :  fince, 
without  the  qualities  upon  which  he  thinks  proper  to 
beftow  fuch  opprobrious  names,  the  arts  of  refine- 
ment could  never  find  encouragement,  and  muft 
languifh  for  want  of  employment.  Some  popular 
afcetic  doctrines  which  had  been  current  before  his 
time,  and  which  placed  virtue  in  the  entire  extir- 
pation and  annihilation  of  all  our  paflions,  were  the 
real  foundation  of  this  licentious  fyftem.  It  was  eafy 
for  Dr.  Mandeville  to  prove,  firft,  that  this  entire 
conqueft  never  actually  took  place  among  men  ;  and 
Secondly,  that,  if  it  was  to  take  place  univerfally,  it 
would  be  pernicious  to  fociety,  by  putting  an  end  to 
all  induflry  and  commerce,  and  in  a  manner  to 
the  whole  bufinefs  of  human  life.  By  the  firft  of 
thefe  proportions  he  feemed  to  prove  that  there  was 
no  real  virtue,  and  that  what  pretended  to  be  fuch, 
was  a  mere  cheat  and  impofition  upon  mankind  ;  and 
by  the  fecond,  that  private  vices  were  public  bene- 
fits,  fince  without  them  no  fociety  could  profper  or 
fiourifh. 

Such  is  the  fyftem  of  Dr.  Mandeville,  which  once 
made  fo  much  noife  in  the  world,  and  which,  though 
perhaps,  it  never  gave  occafion  to  more  vice  than 
what  would  have  been  without  it,  at  lead  taught 
that  vice,  which  arofe  from  other  caufes,  to  appear 
with  more  effrontery,  and  to  avow  the  corruption  of 
its  motives  with  a  profligate  audacioufnefs  which  had 
never  been  heard  of  before. 

But  how  deftructive  foever  this  fyftem  may  appear, 
it  could  never  have  impofed  upon  fo  great  a  number 
of  perfons,  nor  h^ye  occafioned  fo  general  an  alarm 

among 


Sect.  II.         of  Moral  Philosophy.  343 

among  thofe  who  are  the  friends  of  better  principles, 
had  it  not  in  fome  refpeds  bordered  upon  the  truth. 
A  fyftem  of  natural  philofophy  may  appear  very 
plaufible,  and  be  for  a  long  time  very  generally  re- 
ceived in  the  world,  and  yet  have  no  foundation  in 
nature,  nor  any  fort  of  refemblance  to  the  truth. 
The  vortices  of  Des  Cartes  were  regarded  by  a 
very  ingenious  nation,  for  near  a  century  toge- 
ther, as  a  mod  fatisfactory  account  of  the  revoluti- 
ons of  the  heavenly  bodies.  Yet  it  has  been  demon- 
ftrated,  to  the  conviction  of  all  mankind,  that  thefe 
pretended  caufes  of  thofe  wonderful  effects,  not  only 
do  not  actually  exift,  but  are  utterly  impoflible,  and 
if  they  did  exift,  could  produce  no  fuch  effects  as  are 
afcribed  to  them.  But  it  is  otherwife  with  fyftems  of 
moral  philofophy,  and  an  author  who  pretends  to 
account  for  the  origin  of  our  moral  fentiments,  can- 
not deceive  us  fo  grofsly,  nor  depart  fo  very  far  from 
all  refemblance  to  the  truth.  When  a  traveller  gives 
an  account  of  fome  diftant  country,  he  may  impofe 
upon  our  credulity  the  moft  groundlefs  and  abfurd 
fictions  as  the  moft  certain  matters  of  fact.  But 
when  a  perfon  pretends  to  inform  us  of  what  paiTes 
in  our  neighbourhood,  and  of  the  affairs  of  the  very 
parifh  which  we  live  in,  though  here  too,  if  we  are  fo 
carelefs  as  not  to  examine  things  with  our  own  eyes, 
he  may  deceive  us  in  many  refpects,  yet  the  greater! 
falfehoods  which  he  impofes  upon  us  muft  bear  fome 
refemblance  to  the  truth,  and  muft  even  have  a  con- 
fiderable  mixture  of  truth  in  them.  An  author  who 
treats  of  natural  philofophy,  and  pretends  to  afiign 
the  caufes  of  the  great  phenomena  of  the  univerfe, 
pretends  to  give  an  account  of  the  affairs  of  a  very 
diftant  country,  concerning  which  he  may  tell  us 
what  he  pleafes,  and  as  long  as  his  narration  keeps 
within  the  bounds  of  feeming  poffibility,  he  need  not 

Z  4  defpair 


344  0/  Systems  Part  VI. 

defpair  of  gaining  our  belief.  But  when  he  propofes 
ro  explain  the  origin  of  our  defires  and  affections,  of 
our  fentiments  of  approbation  and  difapprobation,  he 
pretends  to  give  an  account,  not  only  of  the  affairs 
of  the  very  parifh  that  we  live  in,  but  of  our  own 
domeftic  concerns.  Though  here  too,  like  indolent 
matters  who  put  their  truft  in  a  fteward  who  deceives 
them,  we  are  very  liable  to  be  impofed  upon,  yet  we 
are  incapable  of  palling  any  account  which  does  not 
preferve  fome  little  regard  to  the  truth.  Some  of  the 
articles,  at  lead,  muft  be  juft,  and  even  thofe  which 
are  mod  overcharged  muft  have  had  fome  foundati- 
on, otherwife  the  fraud  would  be  detected  even  by 
that  carelefs  infpection  which  we  are  difpofed  to  give. 
The  author  who  mould  aflign,  as  the  caufe  of  any 
natural  fentiment,  fome  principle  which  neither  had 
any  connexion  with  it,  nor  refembled  any  other  prin- 
ciple which  had  fome  fuch  connexion,  would  appear 
abfurd  and  ridiculous  to  the  mod  injudicious  and  un- 
experienced reader. 


SEC  T. 


Sett.  III.        of  Moral  Philosophy,  34.5 


SECTION      III. 

Of  the  different  fyftems   which  have  been  formed 
concerning  the  principle  of  approbation. 

INTRODUCTION. 

J\  F  T  E  R  the  inquiry  concerning  the  nature  ot 
virtue,  the  next  queftion  of  importance  in  Moral 
Philofophy,  is  concerning  the  principle  of  approba- 
tion, concerning  the  power  or  faculty  of  the  mind 
which  renders  certain  characters  agreeable  or  difa- 
greeable  to  us,  makes  us  prefer  one  tenour  of  con- 
duel  to  another,  denominate  the  one  right  and  the 
other  wrong,  and  confider  the  one  as  the  object  of 
approbation,  honour,  and  reward  ;  the  other  as  that 
of  blame,  cenfure,  and  punifhment. 

Three  different  accounts  have  been  given  of  this 
principle  of  approbation.  According  to  fome,  we 
approve  and  difapprove  both  of  our  own  actions  and 
of  thofe  of  others,  from  felf-love  only,  or  from  fome 
view  of  their  tendency  to  our  own  happinefs  or  dis- 
advantage -,  according  to  others,  reafon,  the  fame  fa- 
culty by  which  we  diflinguifh  between  truth  and 
falfehood,  enables  us  to  diflinguifh  between  what  is 
fit  and  unfit  both  in  actions  and  affections :  accord- 
ing to  others  this  diftinction  is  altogether  the  effect 
of  immediate  fentiment  and  feeling,  and  arifes  from 
the  "Satisfaction  or  difgufl  with  which  the  view  of 

certain 


346  Of  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI. 

certain  actions  or  affections  infpires  us.  Self-love, 
reafon,  and  fentiment,  therefore,  are  the  three  dif- 
ferent fources  which  have  been  afligned  for  the  prin- 
ciple of  approbation. 

Before  I  proceed  to  give  an  account  of  thofe  dif- 
ferent fyftems,  I  muft  obferve,  that  the  determina- 
tion of  this  fecond  queftion,  though  of  the  greateft 
importance  in  fpeculation,  is  of  none  in  practice. 
The  queftion  concerning  the  nature  of  virtue  necef- 
farily  has  fome  influence  upon  our  notions  of  right 
and  wrong  in  many  particular  cafes.  That  concern- 
ing the  principle  of  approbation  can  poffibly  have  no 
iuch  effect.  To  examine  from  what  contrivance  or 
mechanifm  within,  thofe  different  notions  or  fenti- 
ments  arife,  is  a  mere  matter  of  philofophical  curio- 
fity. 

CHAP.     I. 

Of  thofe  fyftems  which  deduce  the  principle  of  approba- 
tion from  J elf  love. 

HOSE  who  account  for  the  principle  of  ap- 
probation from  felf-love,  do  not  ail  account  for  it  in 
the  fame  manner,  and  there  is  a  good  deal  of  confu- 
fion  and  inaccuracy  in  all  their  different  fyftems. 
According  to  Mr.  Hobbes,  and  many  of  his  follow- 
ers, *  man  is  driven  to  take  refuge  in  fociety,  not 
by  any  natural  love  which  he  bears  to  his  own  kind, 
but  becaufe  without  the  afliftance  of  others  he  is  in- 
capable of  lubfifting  with  eafe  or  fafety.     Society, 

upon 

*  Puffendorff.     Mandeville. 


Sect.  III.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         347 

upon  this  account,  becomes  neceflary  to  him,  and 
whatever  tends  to  its  iupport  and  welfare,  he  confi- 
ders  as  having  a  remote  tendency  to  his  own  interelt, 
and,  on  the  contrary,  whatever  is  likely  to  diiturb 
or  deftroy  it,  he  regards  as  in  fome  meafure  hurtful 
or  pernicious  to  himfelf.  Virtue  is  the  great  fupport, 
and  vice  the  great  difturber  of  human  fociety.  The 
former,  therefore,  is  agreeable,  and  the  latter  offen- 
iive  to  every  man ;  as  from  the  one  he  forefees  the 
profperity,  and  from  the  other  the  ruin  and  diforder 
of  what  is  fo  neceflary  for  the  comfort  and  fecurity 
of  his  exiftence. 

That  the  tendency  of  virtue  to  promote,  and  of 
vice  to  difturb  the  order  of  fociety,  when  we  confider 
it  coolly  and  philofophically,  reflects  a  very  great 
beauty  upon  the  one,  and  a  very  great  deformity 
upon  the  other,  cannot,  as  I  have  obferved  upon  a 
former  occafion,  be  called  in  queftion.  Human  fo~ 
ciety,  when  we  contemplate  it  in  a  certain  abftract 
and  philofophical  light,  appears  like  a  great,  an  im- 
menfe  machine,  whofe  regular  and  harmonious  move- 
ments  produce  a  thoufand  agreeable  effects.  As  in 
any  other  beautiful  and  noble  machine  that  was  the 
production  of  human  art,  whatever  tended  to  ren- 
der its  movements  more  fmooth  and  eafy,  would  de- 
rive a  beauty  from  this  effect,  and,  on  the  contrary, 
whatever  tended  to  obitruct  them  would  difpleafe 
upon  that  account:  fo  virtue,  which  is,  as  it  were, 
the  fine  polifh  to  the  wheels  of  fociety,  neceffarily 
pleafes  -,  while  vice,  like  the  vile  ruft,  which  makes 
them  jar  and  grate  upon  one  another,  is  as  neceffarily 
offenfive.  This  account,  therefore,  of  the  origin  of 
approbation  and  difapprobation,  fo  far  as  it  derives 
them  from  a  regard  to  the  order  of  fociety,  runs  into 

that 


^48  0/  Systems  Part  VL 

that  principle  which  gives  beauty  to  utility,  and 
which  I  have  explained  upon  a  former  occafion  •,  and 
it  is  from  thence  that  this  fyftem  derives  all  that  ap- 
pearance of  probability  which  it  poffefles.  When 
thofe  authors  defcribe  the  innumerable  advantages  of 
a  cultivated  and  focial,  above  a  favage  and  folitary 
life ;  when  they  expatiate  upon  the  necefilty  of  vir- 
tue and  good  order  for  the  maintenance  of  the  one, 
and  demonftrate  how  infallibly  the  prevalence  of 
vice  and  difobedience  to  the  laws  tend  to  bring  back 
the  other,  the  reader  is  charmed  with  the  novelty 
and  grandeur  of  thofe  views  which  they  open  to  him  : 
he  fees  plainly  a  new  beauty  in  virtue,  and  a  new 
deformity  in  vice,  which  he  had  never  taken  notice 
of  before,  and  is  commonly  fo  delighted  with  the 
difcovery,  that  he  feldom  takes  time  to  reflect,  that 
this  political  view,  having  never  occurred  to  him  in 
his  life  before,  cannot  pofiibly  be  the  ground  of  that 
approbation  and  disapprobation  with  which  he  has 
always  been  accuftomed  to  confider  thofe  different 
qualities. 

When  thofe  authors,  on  the  other  hand,  deduce 
from  felf-love  the  intereft  which  we  take  in  the  wel- 
fare of  fociety,  and  the  efleem  which  upon  that  ac- 
count we  beflow  upon  virtue,  they  do  not  mean,  that 
when  we  in  this  age  applaud  the  virtue  of  Cato,  and 
deteft  the  villainy  of  Catiline,  our  ientiments  are  in- 
fluenced by  the  notion  of  any  benefit  we  receive  from 
the  one,  or  of  any  detriment  we  fufFer  from  the 
other.  It  was  not  becaufe  the  profperity  or  fubver- 
fion  of  fociety,  in  thofe  remote  ages  and  nations, 
was  apprehended  to  have  any  influence  upon  our 
happinefs  or  mifery  in  the  prefent  times  •,  that  ac- 
cording to  thofe  pkjlofophers,  we  efteemed  the  vir- 
tuous, 


Sect.  III.       of  Moral  Philosophy.         349 

tuous,  and  blamed  the  diforderly  character.  They 
never  imagined  that  our  fentiments  were  influenced 
by  any  benefit  or  damage  which  we  fuppofed  actual- 
ly to  redound  to  us,  from  either;  but  by  that  which 
might  have  redounded  to  us,  had  we  lived  in  thofe  dis- 
tant ages  and  countries;  or  by  that  which  might  (till 
redound  to  us,  if  in  our  own  times'.we  fhould  meet 
with  characters  of  the  fame  kind.  The  idea,  in  fhort, 
which  thofe  authors  were  groping  about,  but  which 
they  were  never  able  to  unfold  diflinctly,  was  that 
indirect  fympathy  which  we  feel  with  the  gratitude 
or  refentment  of  thofe  who  received  the  benefit  or  fuf- 
fered  the  damage  refulting  from  fuch  oppofite  charac- 
ters :  and  it  was  this  which  they  were  indiflinctly 
pointing  at,  when  they  faid,  that  it  was  not  the 
thought  of  what  we  had  gained  or  fuffered  which 
prompted  our  applaufe  or  indignation,  but  the  con- 
ception or  imagination  of  what  we  might  gain  or 
fufFer  if  we  were  to  act  in  fociety  with  fuch  afib- 
ciates. 

Sympathy,  however,  cannot,  in  any  fenfe,  be  re- 
garded as  a  felfifh  principle.  When  I  fympathize 
with  your  forrow  or  your  indignation,  it  may  be 
pretended,  indeed,  that  my  emotion  is  founded  in 
felf-love,  becaufe  it  arifes  from  bringing  your  cafe 
home  to  myfelf,  from  putting  myfelf  in  your  fitua- 
tion,  and  thence  conceiving  what  I  fhould  feel  in  the 
like  circumftances.  But  though  fympathy  is  very 
properly  faid  to  arife  from  an  imaginary  change  of 
fituations  with  the  perfon  principally  concerned,  yet 
this  imaginary  change  is  not  fuppofed  to  happen  to 
me  in  my  own  perfon  and  character,  but  in  that  of 
the  perfon  with  whom  I  fympathize.  When  I  con- 
dole with  you  for  the  lofs  of  your  only  fon,  in  order 
to  enter  into  your  grief,  I  do  not  confider  what;  I,  a 

perfon 


35°  '  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

perfon  of  fuch  a  character  and  profefllon,  mould 
fuffer,  if  I  had  a  fori,  and  if  that  fon  was  unfortu- 
nately to  die  :  but  I  confider  what  I  lhould  fuffer  if  I 
was  really  you,  and  I  not  only  change  circumftances 
with  you,  but  I  change  perfons  and  characters.  My 
grief,  therefore,  is  entirely  upon  your  account,  and 
not  in  the  leaft  upon  my  own.  It  is  not,  therefore, 
in  the  leaft  felfifh.  How  can  that  be  regarded  as  a 
felfifh  paffion,  which  does  not  arife  even  from  the 
imagination  of  any  thing  that  has  befallen,  or  that 
relates  to  myfelf,  in  my  own  proper  perfon  and  cha- 
racter, but  which  is  entirely  occupied  about  what 
relates  to  you  ?  A  man  may  fympathize  with  a  wo- 
man in  child-bed  •,  though  it  is  impoffible  that  he 
fhould  conceive  himfelf  as  fuffering  her  pains  in  his 
own  proper  perfon  and  character.  That  whole  ac- 
count of  human  nature,  however,  which  deduces 
all  fentiments  and  affections  from  felflove,  which 
has  made  fo  much  noife  in  the  wor]d,  but  which,  fo 
far  as  I  know,  has  never  yet  been  fully  and  diftinctly 
explained,  feems  to  me  to  have  arifen  from  fome 
confufed  mifapprehenfion  of  the  fyftem  of  fympathy. 


CHAP.     II. 

Of  thofe  Jyflems  which  make  reafon  the  principle  of 
approbation. 

A  T  is  well  known  to  have  been  the  doctrine  of 
Mr.  Hobbes,  that  a  ftate  of  nature,  is  a  (late  of  war  ; 
and  that  antecedent  to  the  inftitution  of  civil  go- 
vernment, there  could  be  no  fafe  or  peaceable  foci- 
cty  among  men.  To  preferve  fociety,  therefore,  ac- 
cording 


Sect.  III.       of  Moral  Philosophy.-      351 

cording  to  him,  was  to  fupport  civil  government,  and 
to  deftroy  civil  government  was  the  fame  thing  as  to 
put  an  end  to  fociety.  But  the  exiftence  of  civil  go- 
vernment depends  upon  the  obedience  that  is  paid 
to  the  fupreme  magiftrate.  The  moment  he  lofes 
his  authority,  all  government  is  at  an  end.  As  felf- 
prefervation,  therefore,  teaches  men  to  applaud 
whatever  tends  to  promote  the  welfare  of  fociety, 
and  to  blame  whatever  is  likely  to  hurt  it  5  fo  the 
fame  principle,  if  they  would  think  and  fpeak  con- 
fidently, ought  to  teach  them  to  applaud  upon  all 
ocafions  obedience  to  the  civil  magiftrate,  and  to 
blame  all  difobedience  and  rebellion.  The  very 
ideas  of  laudable  and  blameable,  ought  to  be  the 
fame  with  thofe  of  obedience  and  difobedience.  The 
laws  of  the  civil  magiftrate,  therefore,  ought  to  be 
regarded  as  the  fole  ultimate  ftandards  of  what  was 
juft  and  unjuft,  of  what  was  right  and  wrong. 

It  was  the  avowed  intention  of  Mr.  Hobbes,  by 
propagating  thefe  notions,  to  fubject  the  confciences 
of  men  immediately  to  the  civil,  and  not  to  the  ec- 
clefiaftical  powers,  whofe  turbulence  and  ambition, 
he  had  been  taught,  by  the  example  of  his  own 
times,  to  regard  as  the  principal  fource  of  the  dif- 
orders  of  fociety.  His  doctrine,  upon  this  account, 
was  peculiarly  offenfive  to  Theologians,  who  accord- 
ingly did  not  fail  to  vent  their  indignation  againft 
him  with  great  afperity  and  bitternefs.  It  was  like- 
wife  offenfive  to  all  found  moralifts,  as  it  fuppofed 
that  there  was  no  natural  diftinction  between  right 
and  wrong,  that  thefe  were  mutable  and  changeable, 
and  depended  upon  the  mere  arbitrary  will  of  the 
civil  magiftrate.     This  account  of  things,  therefore, 

was 


352  O/Systems  Part  VI. 

was  attacked  from  all  quarters,  and  by  all  forts  of 
weapons,  by  fober  reafon  as  well  as  by  furious  de- 
clamation. 

In  order  to  confute  fo  odious  a  doctrine,  it  was 
neceffary  to  prove,  that  antecedent  to  all  law  or 
pofnive  inftitution,  the  mind  was  naturally  endowed 
with  a  faculty,  by  which  it  diftinguifhed  in  certain 
actions  and  affections,  the  qualities  of  right,  laudable, 
and  virtuous,  and  in  others  thofe  of  wrong,  blame- 
able,  and  vicious. 

Law,  it  was  juftly  obferved  by  Dr.  Cudworth,  * 
could  not  be  the  original  fource  of  thofe  diftinctions  ; 
fince  upon  the  fuppofition  of  fuch  a  law,  it  muft 
either  be  right  to  obey  it,  and  wrong  to  difobey  it, 
or  indifferent  whether  we  obeyed  it,  or  difobeyed  it. 
That  law  which  it  was  indifferent  whether  we  obeyed 
or  difobeyed,  could  not,  it  was  evident,  be  the  fource 
of  thofe  diftinctions  ;  neither  could  that  which  it  was 
right  to  obey  and  wrong  to  difobey,  fince  even  this 
ftill  fuppofed  the  antecedent  notions  or  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong,  and  that  obedience  to  the  law  was  con- 
formable to  the  idea  of  right,  and  difobedience  to 
that  of  wrong. 

Since  the  mind,  therefore,  had  a  notion  of  thofe 
diftinctions  antecedent  to  all  law,  it  feemed  necefla- 
rily  to  follow,  that  it  derived  this  notion  from  rea- 
fon, which  pointed  out  the  difference  between  right 
and  wrong,  m  the  fame  manner  in  which  it  did  that 
between  truth  and  falfehood :  and  this  conclufion, 
which  though  true  in  fome  refpects,  is  rather  hafty 

in 

*  Immutable  Morality,  1.   i. 


Scdt.  III.        c/  Moral  Philosophy.         353 

in  others,  was  more  eafily  received  at  a  time  when 
the  abftract  fcience  of  human  nature  was  but  in  its 
infancy,  and  before  the  diftinct  offices  and  powers  of 
the  different  faculties  of  the  human  mind  had  been 
carefully  examined  and  diftinguifhed  from  one  ano- 
ther. When  this  controverfy  with  Mr.  Hobbes  was 
carried  on  with  thegreateft  warmth  and  keennefs,  no 
other  faculty  had  been  thought  of  from  which  any 
fuch  ideas  could  poffibly  be  fuppofed  to  arife.  It 
became  at  this  time,  therefore,  the  popular  doctrine, 
that  the  eiTence  of  virtue  and  vice  did  not  con  (id  in 
the  conformity  or  difagreement  of  human  actions 
with  the  law  of  a  fuperior,  but  in  their  conformity  or 
difagreement  with  reaibn,  which  was  thus  confidered 
as  the  original  fource  and  principle  of  approbation 
and  difapprobation. 

That  virtue  confifts  in  conformity  to  reafon,  is 
true  in  fome  refpects,  and  this  faculty  may  veryjuftly 
be  confidered,  as  in  fome  fenfe,  the  fource  and  prin- 
ciple of  approbation  and  difapprobation,  and  of  all 
folid  judgments  concerning  right  and  wrong.  It  is 
by  reafon  that  we  difcover  thole  general  rules  of  juf- 
tice  by  which  we  ought  to  regulate  our  actions :  and 
it  is  by  the  fame  faculty  that  we  form  thofe  more 
vague  and  indeterminate  ideas  of  what  is  prudent,  of 
what  is  decent,  of  what  is  generous  or  noble,  which 
we  carry  conftantly  about  with  us,  and  according  to 
which  we  endeavour,  as  well  as  we  can,  to  model 
the  tenour  of  our  conduct.  The  general  maxims  of 
morality  are  formed,  like  all  other  general  maxims, 
from  experience  and  induction.  We  obferve  in  a 
great  variety  of  particular  cafes  what  pleafes  or  dif- 
pleafes  our  moral  faculties,  what  thefe  approve  or 
difapprove  of,  and,  by  induction  from  this  experi- 

A  a  ence, 


354  Of  Systems  Part  VL 

ence,  we  eftablifh  thofe  general  rules.  But  induction 
is  always  regarded  as  one  of  the  operations  of  reafon. 
From  reafon,  therefore,  we  are  very  properly  faid 
to  derive  all  thofe  general  maxims  and  ideas.  It  is 
by  thefe,  however,  that  we  regulate  the  greater  part 
of  our  moral  judgments,  which  would  be  extremely 
uncertain  and  precarious  if  they  depended  altogether 
upon  what  is  liable  to  fo  many  variations  as  immedi- 
ate fentiment  and  feeling,  which  the  different  ftates 
of  health  and  humour  are  capable  of  altering  fo 
efTentially.  As  our  moft  folid  judgments,  therefore, 
with  regard  to  right  and  wrong,  are  regulated  by 
maxims  and  ideas  derived  from  an  induction  of  rea- 
fon, virtue  may  very  properly  be  faid  to  confifi  in  a 
conformity  to  reafon,  and  fo  far  this  faculty  may  be 
confidered  as  the  fource  and  principle  of  approbation 
and  difapprobation. 

But  though  reafon  is  undoubtedly  the  fource  of 
the  general  rules  of  morality,  and  of  all  the  moral 
judgments  which  we  form  by  means  of  them;  it  is 
altogether  abfurd  and  unintelligible  to  fuppofe  that 
the  firft  perceptions  of  right  and  wrong  can  be  derived 
from  reafon,  even  in  thofe  particular  cafes  upon  the 
experience  of  which  the  general  rules  are  formed. 
Thefe  firft  perceptions,  as  well  all  other  experiments 
upon  which  any  general  rules  are  founded,  cannot  be 
the  object  of  reafon,  but  of  immediate  fenfe  and 
feeling.  It  is  by  finding  in  a  vaft  variety  of  inftances 
that  one  tenour  of  conduct  conftantly  pleafes  in  a 
certain  manner,  and  that  another  as  conftantly  dif- 
pleafes  the  mind,  that  we  form  the  general  rules  of 
morality.  But  reafon  cannot  render  any  particular 
object  either  agreeable  or  difagreeable  to  the  mind 
for  its  own  fake.^  Reafon  may  fhow  that  this  object 

is 


Sect.  III.      of  Moral  Philosophy.         $5$ 

k  the  means  of  obtaining  fome  other  which  is  natu- 
rally either  pleafing  or  difpleafing,  and  in  this  man- 
ner may  render  it  either  agreeable  or  difagreeable  for 
the  fake  of  fomething  elfe.  But  nothing  can  be 
agreeable  or  difagreeable  for  its  own  fake,  which  is 
not  rendered  fuch  by  immediate  fenfe  and  feeling. 
If  virtue,  therefore,  in  every  particular  inftance, 
neceffarily  pleafes  for  its  own  fake,  and  if  vice  as 
certainly  difpleafes  the  mind,  it  cannot  bereafon,  but 
immediate  fenfe  and  feeling,  which,  in  this  manner, 
reconciles  us  to  the  one,  and  alienates  us  from  the 
other. 

Pleafure  and  pain  are  the  great  objects  of  de fire 
and  averfion  :  but  thefe  are  diftinguifhed  not  by 
reafon,  but  by  immediate  fenfe  and  feeling.  If  vir- 
tue, therefore,  is  defirable  for  its  own  fake,  and  if 
vice  is,  in  the  fame  manner,  the  object  of  averfion, 
it  cannot  be  reafon  which  originally  diftinguifhes 
thofe  different  qualities,  but  immediate  fenfe  and 
feeling. 

As  reafon,  however,  in  a  certain  fenfe,  may  juftly 
be  confidered  as  the  principle  of  approbation  and  dis- 
approbation, thefe  fentiments  were,  through  inat- 
tention, long  regarded  as  originally  flowing  from  the 
operations  of  this  faculty.  Dr.  Hutchefon  had  the 
merit  of  being  the  firft  who  diftinguifhed  with  any 
degree  of  precifion  in  what  refpect  all  moral  diftincti- 
ons  may  be  faid  to  arife  from  reafon,  and  in  what 
refpedt  they  are  founded  upon  immediate  fenfe  and 
feeling.  In  his  illuftrations  upon  the  moral  fenfe  he 
has  explained  this  fo  fully,  and,  in  my  opinion,  fo 
unanfwerably,  that,  if  any  controverfy  is  ftill  kept 
up  about  this  fubject,  I  can  impute  it  to  nothing, 
A  a  2  but 


356  Of  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI. 

but  either  to  inattention  to  what  that  gentleman  has 
written,  or  to  a  fuperftitious  attachment  to  certain 
forms  of  expreflion,  a  weaknefs  not  very  uncommon 
among  the  learned,  efpecially  in  fubjects  fo  deeply 
interesting  as  the  prefent,  in  which  a  man  of  virtue 
is  often  loth  to  abandon,  even  the  propriety  of  a 
fingle  phrafe  which  he  has  been  accuftomed  to. 

CHAP.     III. 

Of  thofe  fyftems  which  make  fentiment  the  principle  of 
approbation. 


JL  HOSE  fyftems  which  make  fentiment  the 
principle  of  approbation  may  be  divided  into  two 
different  claffes. 

I.  According  to  fome  the  principle  of  approbation 
is  founded  upon  a  fentiment  of  a  peculiar  nature, 
upon  a  particular  power  of  perception  exerted  by  the 
mind  at  the  view  of  certain  actions  or  affections  y 
fome  of  which  affecting  this  faculty  in  an  agreeable 
and  others  in  a  difagreeable  manner,  the  former  are 
flampt  with  the  characters  of  right,  laudable,  and 
virtuous  •>  the  latter  with  thofe  of  wrong,  blameable 
and  vicious.  This  fentiment  being  of  a  peculiar 
nature  diftinct  from  every  other,  and  the  effect  of  a 
particular  power  of  perception,  they  give  it  a  parti- 
cular name,'  and  call  it  a  moral  fenfe. 

II.  According  to  others,  in  order  to  account  for 
the  principle  of  approbation,  there  is  no  occafion 
for  fuppofing  an^  new  power  of  perception  which 

had 


Sect.  III.         c/Moral  Philosophy.         357 

had  never  been  heard  of  before  :  Nature,  they  ima- 
gine, acts  here,  as  in  all  other  cafes,  with  the  ftricteft 
ceconomy,  and  produces  a  multitude  of  effects  from 
one  and  the  fame  caufe  j  and  fympathy,  a  power  which 
has  always  been  taken  notice  of,  and  with  which  the 
mind  is  manifeftly  endowed,  is,  they  think,  fuffici- 
ent  to  account  for  all  the  effects  afcribed  to  this  pecu- 
liar faculty. 

I.  Dr.  Hutchefon  *  had  been  at  great  pains  to 
prove  that  the  principle  of  approbation  was  not 
founded  on  felf-love.  He  had  demonftrated  too  that 
it  could  not  arife  from  any  operation  of  reafon.  No- 
thing remained,  he  thought,  but  to  fuppofe  it  a  fa- 
culty of  a  peculiar  kind,  with  which  Nature  had  en- 
dowed the  human  mind,  in  order  to  produce  this  one 
particular  and  important  effect.  •  When  felf-love  and 
reafon  were  both  excluded,  it  did  not  occur  to  him 
that  there  was  any  other  known  faculty  of  the  mind 
which  could  in  any  refpect  anfwer  this  purpofe. 

This  new  power  of  perception  he  called  a  moral 
fenie,  and  fuppofed  it  to  be  fomewhat  analogous  to 
the  external  fenfes.  As  the  bodies  around  us,  by 
affecting  thefe  in  a  certain  manner,  appear  to  poffefs 
the  different  qualities  of  found,  tafte,  odour,  colour-, 
fo  the  various  affections  of  the  human  mind,  by 
touching  this  particular  faculty  in  a  certain  manner, 
appear  to  poffefs  the  different  qualities  of  amiable 
and  odious,  of  virtuous  and  vicious,  of  right  and 
wrong. 

The  various  fenfes  or  powers  of  perception,  f  from 

which  the  human  mind  derives  all  its  fimple  ideas, 

A  a  3  were, 

*  Inquiry  concerning  Virtue,         f  Treatife  of  the  paftions. 


358  Of  S  y  s  t'e  m  s  Part  VI. 

were,  according  to  this  fyftem,of  two  different  kinds, 
of  which  the  one  were  called  the  direct  or  antecedent, 
the  other,  the  reflex  or  confequent  fenfes.  The  di- 
rect fenfes  were  thofe  faculties  from  which  the  mind 
derived  the  perception  of  fuch  fpecies  of  things  as 
did  not  prefuppofe  the  antecedent  perception  of  any 
other.  Thus  founds  and  colours  were  objects  of  the 
direct  fenfes.  To  hear  a  found  or  to  fee  a  colour  docs 
not  prefuppofe  the  antecedent  perception  of  any  other 
quality  or  object.  The  reflex  or  confequent  fenfes, 
on  the  other  hand,  were  thofe  faculties  from  which 
the  mind  derived  the  perception  of  fuch  fpecies  of 
things  as  prefuppofed  the  antecedent  perception  of 
fome  other.  Thus  harmony  and  beauty  were  objects 
of  the  reflex  fenfes.  In  order  to  perceive  the  har- 
mony of  a  found,  or  the  beauty  of  a  colour,  we  muft 
firft  perceive  the  found  or  the  colour.  The  moral 
fenfe  was  confidered.  as  a  faculty  of  this  kind.  That 
faculty,  which  Mr.  Locke  calls  reflection,  and  from 
which  he  derived  the  fimple  ideas  of  the  different 
paffions  and  emotions  of  the  human  mind,  was,  ac- 
cording to  Dr.  Hutchefon,  a  direct  internal  fenfe. 
That  faculty  again  by  which  we  perceived  the  beauty 
or  deformity,  the  virtue  or  vice  of  thofe  different 
paffions  and  emotions,  was  a  reflex,  internal  fenfe. 

Dr.  Hutchefon  endeavoured  (till  further  to  fupport 
this  doctrine,  by  (hewing  that  it  was  agreeable  to  the 
analogy  of  nature,  and  that  the  mind  was  endowed 
with  a  variety  of  other  reflex  fenfes  exactly  fimilar  to 
the  moral  fenfe  *  fuch  as  a  fenfe  of  beauty  and  de- 
formity in  external  objeas  ;  a  public  fenfe,  by  which 
we  fympathize  with  the  happinefs  or  mifery  of  our 
v  fellow- 


Sect.  HI.       of  Moral  Philosophy.  359 

fellow-creatures  -,  a  fenfe  of  fhame  and  honour,  and 
a  fenfe  of  ridicule. 

But  notwithftanding  all  the  pains  which  this  in- 
genious philofopher  has  taken  to  prove  that  the  prin- 
ciple of  approbation  is  founded  in  a  peculiar  power 
of  perception,  fomewhat  analogous  to  the  external 
fenfes,  there  are  fome  confequences,  which  he  ac- 
knowledges to  follow  from  this  doctrine,  that  will, 
perhaps,  be  regarded  by  many  as  a  fufficient  confu- 
tation of  it.  The  qualities,  he  allows,  *  which  be- 
long to  the  objects  of  any  fenfe,  cannot,  without  the 
greateft  abfurdity,  be  afcribed  to  the  fenfe  itfelf.  Who 
ever  thought  of  calling  the  fenfe  of  feeing  black  or 
white,  the  fenfe  of  hearing  loud  or  low,  or  the  fenfe 
of  tailing  fweet  or  bitter  ?  And,  according  to  him, 
it  is  equally  abfurd  to  call  our  moral  faculties  vir- 
tuous or  vicious,  morally  good  or  evil.  Thefe  quali- 
ties belong  to  the  objects  of  thofe  faculties,  not  to 
the  faculties  themfelves.  If  any  man,  therefore,  was 
fo  abfurdly  conftituted  as  to  approve  of  cruelty  and 
injuftice  as  the  higheft  virtues,  and  to  dilapprove  of 
equity  and  humanity  as  the  mod  pitiful  vices,  fuch 
a  conftitution  of  mind  might  indeed  be  regarded  as 
inconvenient  both  to  the  individual  and  to  the  foci- 
ety,  and  likewife  as  ftrange,  furprifing,  and  unnatu- 
ral in  itfelf-,  but  it  could  not,  without  the  greateft 
abfurdity,  be  denominated  vicious  or  morally  evil. 

Yet  furely  if  we  faw  any  man  (homing  with  ad- 
miration and  applaufe  at  a  barbarous  and  unmerited 
execution,  which   fome  infolent  tyrant  had  ordered, 
A  a  4  we 

*  Illuftrations  upon  the  Moral  Senfe.     Se&.  1.  p.  237,  et  feq. 
Third  Edition. 


36*0  0/  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VL 

we  mould  not  think  we  were  guilty  of  any  great  ab- 
furdity  in  denominating  this  behaviour  vicious  and 
morally  evil  in  the  higheft  degree,  though  it  exprelTed 
nothing  but  depraved  moral  faculties,  or  an  abfurd 
approbation  of  this  horrid  action,  as  of  what  was 
noble,  magnanimous,  and  great.  Our  heart,  I  ima- 
gine, at  the  fight  of  fuch  a  fpectator,  would  forget 
for  a  while  its  fympathy  with  the  fufferer,  and  feel 
nothing  but  horror  and  deteftation,  at  the  thought  of 
fo  execrable  a  wretch.  We  mould  abominate  him 
even  more  than  the  tyrant  who  might  be  goaded  on 
by  the  ftrong  pamons  of  jealoufy,  fear,  and  refent- 
ment,  and  upon  that  account  be  more  excufable. 
But  the  fentiments  of  the  fpectator  would  appear  al- 
together without  caufe  or  motive,  and  therefore  mod 
perfectly  and  completely  deteftable.  There  is  no 
perverfion  of  fentiment  or  affection  \vhich  our  heart 
would  be  more  averfe  to  enter  into,  or  which  it  would 
reject  with  greater  hatred  and  indignation  than  one 
of  this  kind  ;  and  fo  far  from  regarding  fuch  a  con- 
ititution  of  mind  as  being  merely  fomething  ftrange 
or  inconvenient,  and  not  in  any  refpect  vicious  or 
morally  evil,  we  mould  rather  confider  it  as  the  very 
lad  and  molt  dreadful  flage  of  moral  depravity. 

Correct  moral  fentiments,  on  the  contrary,  natu- 
rally appear  in  fome  degree  laudable  and  morally 
good.  The  man,  whofe  cenfure  and  applaul'e  arc 
upon  all  occafions  fuited  with  the  greateft  accuracy 
to  the  value  or  unworthinefs  of  the  object,  feems  to 
deferve  a  degree  even  of  moral  approbation.  We 
admire  the  delicate  precifion  of  his  moral  fentiments  : 
they  lead  our  own  judgments,  and,  upon  account  of 
their  uncommon  and  furprifing  juftnefs,  they  even 
excite  our  wonder  and  applaufe.     Wre  cannot  indeed 

be 


Sect.  III.       of  Moral  Philosophy.         361 

be  always  fure  that  the  conduct  of  fuch  a  perfon 
would  be  in  any  refpect  correfpondent  to  the  preci- 
fion  and  accuracy  of  his  judgments  concerning  the 
conduct  of  others.  Virtue  requires  habit  and  refo- 
lution  of  mind,  as  well  as  delicacy  of  fentiment  -, 
and  unfortunately  the  former  qualities  are  fometimes 
wanting,  where  the  latter  is  in  the  greateft  perfection. 
This  difpofition  of  mind,  however,  though  it  may 
fometimes  be  attended  with  imperfections,  is  incom- 
patible with  any  thing  that  is  grofsly  criminal,  and 
is  the  happiefl  foundation  upon  which  the  fuperftruc- 
ture  of  perfect  virtue  can  be  built.  There  are  many 
men  who  mean  very  well,  and  ierioufly  purpofe  to  do 
what  they  think  their  duty,  who  notwithstanding  are 
difagreeable  on  account  of  the  coarfenefs  of  their 
moral  fentiments. 

It  may  be  faid,  perhaps,  that  though  the  princi- 
ple of  approbation  is  not  founded  upon  any  power 
of  perception  that  is  in  any  refpect  analogous  to  the 
external  fenfes,  it  may  dill  be  founded  upon  a  pecu- 
liar fentiment  which  anfwers  this  one  particular  pur- 
pofe and  no  other.  Approbation  and  difapproba- 
tion,  it  may  be  pretended,  are  certain  feelings  or 
emotions  which  arife  in  the  mind  upon  the  view  of 
different  characters  and  actions ;  and  as  refentment 
might  be  called  a  fenfe  of  injuries,  or  gratitude  a 
fenfe  of  benefits,  fo  thefe  may  very  properly  receive 
the  name  of  a  fenfe  of  right  and  wrong,  or  of  a  mo- 
ral fenfe. 

But  this  account  of  things,  though  it  may  not  be 
liable  to  the  fame  objections  with  the  foregoing, 
is  expofed  to  others  which  are  equally  unanfwerable. 

Fird 


362  Of  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VL 

Firft  of  all,  whatever  variations  any  particular 
emotion  may  undergo,  it  (till  preferves  the  general 
features  which  diftinguifh  it  to  be  an  emotion  of 
fuch  a  kind,  and  thefe  general  features  arc  always 
more  ftriking  and  remarkable  than  any  variation 
which  it  may  undergo  in  particular  cafes.  Thus  an- 
ger is  an  emotion  of  a  particular  kind  :  and  accord* 
ingly  its  general  features  are  always  more  diftin- 
guifhable  than  all  the  variations  it  undergoes  in  par- 
ticular cafes.  Anger  againft  a  man,  is,  no  doubt, 
fomewhat  different  from  anger  againft  a  woman, 
and  that  again  from  anger  againft  a  child.  In  each 
of  thofe  three  cafes,  the  general  paffion  of  anger  re- 
ceives a  different  modification  from  the  particular 
character  of  its  object,  as  may  eafily  be  obferved  by 
the  attentive.  But  ftill  the  general  features  of  the 
paffion  predominate  in  all  thefe  cafes.  To  diftin- 
guifh  thefe,  requires  no  nice  obfervation  :  a  very  de- 
licate attention,  on  the  contrary,  is  necelTary  to  difco- 
ver  their  variations :  every  body  takes  notice  of  the 
former :  fcarce  any  body  obferves  the  latter.  If  ap- 
probation and  difapprobation,  therefore,  were,  like 
gratitude  and  refentment,  emotions  of  a  particular 
kind,  diftinct  from  every  other,  we  mould  expect 
that  in  all  the  variations  which  either  of  them  might 
undergo,  it  would  ftill  retain  the  general  features 
which  mark  it  to  be  an  emotion  of  fuch  a  particular 
kind,  clear,  plain,  and  eafily  diftinguifhable.  But 
in  fact  it  happens  quite  otherwife.  If  we  attend  to 
what  we  really  feel  when  upon  different  occafions  we 
either  approve  or  difapprove,  we  fhall  find  that  our 
emotion  in  one  cafe  is  often  totally  different  from 
that  in  another,  and  that  no  common  features  can 
poflibly  be  difcovered  between  them.  Thus  the  ap- 
x  probation 


0 


Sect.  III.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         36 

probation  with  which  we  view  a  tender,  delicate, 
and  humane  fentiment,  is  quite  different  from  that 
with  which  we  are  ftruck  by  one  that  appears  great, 
daring,  and  magnanimous.  Our  approbation  of 
both  may,  upon  different  occafions,  be  perfect  and 
entire ;  but  we  are  foftened  by  the  one,  and  we  are 
elevated  by  the  other,  and  there  is  no  fort  of  re- 
femblance  between  the  emotions  which  they  excite 
in  us.  But,  according  to  that  fyftem  which  I  have 
been  endeavouring  to  eftablifh,  this  muft  neceffarily 
be  the  cafe.  As  the  emotions  of  the  perfon  whom 
we  approve  of,  are,  in  thofe  two  cafes,  quite  oppo- 
fite  to  one  another,  and  as  our  approbation  ariies 
from  fympathy  with  thofe  oppofite  emotions,  what 
we  feel  upon  the  one  occafion,  can  have  no  fort  of 
refemblance  to  what  we  feel  upon  the  other.  But 
this  could  not  happen  if  approbation  confided  in  a 
peculiar  emotion  which  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  fentiments  we  approved  of,  but  which  arofe  at 
the  view  of  thofe  fentiments,  like  any  other  paffion 
at  the  view  of  its  proper  object.  The  fame  thing 
holds  true  with  regard  to  difapprobation.  Our 
horror  for  cruelty  has  no  fort  of  refemblance  to  our 
contempt  for  mean-fpiritednefs.  It  is  quite  a  dif- 
ferent fpecies  of  difcord  which  we  feel  at  the  view 
of  thofe  two  different  vices,  between  our  minds 
and  thofe  of  the  perfon  whofe  fentiments  and  be- 
haviour we  confider. 

Secondly,  I  have  already  obferved,  that  not  only 
the  different  paffions  or  affections  of  the  human  mind 
which  are  approved  or  difapproved  of  appear  mo- 
rally good  or  evil,  but  that  proper  and  improper  ap- 
probation appear,  to  our  natural  fentiments,  to  be 
ftarnpt  with   the  fame  characters.      I  would   afk, 

therefore, 


364  O/Systems  Part  VI. 

therefore,  how  it  is,  that,  according  to  this  fyftem, 
we  approve  or  difapprove  of  proper  or  improper 
approbation.  To  this  queftion,  there  is,  I  imagine, 
but  one  reafonable  anfwer,  which  can  poflibly  be 
given.  It  mult  be  faid,  that  when  the  approbation 
with  which  our  neighbour  regards  the  conduct  of  a 
third  perfon  coincides  with  our  own,  we  approve  of 
his  approbation,  and  confider  it  as,  in  fomemeafure, 
morally  good ;  and  that  on  the  contrary,  when  it 
does  not  coincide  with  our  own  fentiments,  we  dif- 
approve of  it,  and  confider  it  as,  in  fome  meafure, 
morally  evil.  It  mud  be  allowed,  therefore,  that, 
at  leaft  in  this  one  cafe,  the  coincidence  or  oppofition 
of  fentiments,  between  the  obferver  and  the  perfon 
obferved,  conftitutes  moral  approbation  or  difappro- 
bation.  And  if  it  does  fo  in  this  one  cafe,  I  would 
afk,  why  not  in  every  other?  to  what  purpofe  ima- 
gine a  new  power  of  perception  in  order  to  account 
for  thofe  fentiments  ? 

Againft  every  account  of  the  principle  of  appro- 
bation, which  makes  it  depend  upon  a  peculiar  fen- 
timent,  diftincl  from  every  other,  I  would  object ; 
that  it  is  ftrange  that  this  fentimenr,  which  Provi- 
dence undoubtedly  intended  to  be  the  governing 
principle  of  human  nature,  fhould  hitherto  have 
been  fo  little  taken  notice  of,  as  not  to  have  got  a 
name  in  any  language.  The  word  moral  fenfe  is  of 
very  late  formation,  and  cannot  yet  be  confidered  as 
making  part  of  the  Englifh  tongue.  The  word  ap- 
probation has  but  within  thefe  few  years  been  ap- 
propriated to  denote  peculiarly  any.  thing  of  this 
kind.  In  propriety  of  language  we  approve  of 
whatever  is  entirely  to  our  fatisfa&ion,  of  the  form 
of  a  building,  of  rhe  contrivance  of  a  machine,  of 

the 


Se£t.  III.       of  Moral  Philosophy.         365 

the  flavour  of  a  didi  of  meat.  The  word  confcience 
does  not  immediately  denote  any  moral  faculty  by 
which  we  approve  or  difapprove.  Confcience  fup- 
pofes,  indeed,  the  exiftence  of  fome  fuch  faculty, 
and  properly  fignifies  our  confcioufnefs  of  having 
acted  agreeably  or  contrary  to  its  directions.  When 
love,  hatred,  joy,  lbrrow,  gratitude,  refentment,  with 
fo  many  other  pafiions  which  are  all  fuppofed  to  be 
the  fubjects  of  this  principle,  have  made  themfelves 
confiderable  enough  to  get  titles  to  know  them  by, 
is  it  not  furprifing  that  the  fovereign  of  them  ail 
mould  hitherto  have  been  fo  little  heeded,  that,  a 
few  philofophers  excepted,  no  body  has  yet  thought 
it  worth  while  to  bellow  a  name  upon  it  ? 

"When  we  approve  of  any  character  or  action, 
the  fentiments  which  we  feel,  are,  according  to  the 
foregoing  fyftem,  derived  from  four  fources,  which 
are  in  fome  refpects  different  from  one  another. 
Firft,  we  fympathize  with  the  motives  of  the  agent ; 
fecondly,  we  enter  into  the  gratitude  of  thofe  who 
receive  the  benefit  of  his  actions ;  thirdly,  we  ob- 
ferve  that  his  conduct  has  been  agreeable  to  the  ge- 
neral rules  by  which  thofe  two  fympathies  generally 
act ;  and,  laft  of  all,  when  we  confider  fuch  ac- 
tions as  making  part  of  a  fyftem  of  behaviour  which 
tends  to  promote  the  happinefs  either  of  the  indivi- 
dual or  of  the  fociety,  they  appear  to  derive  a  beauty 
from  this  utility,  not  unlike  that  which  we  afcribe 
to  any  well  contrived  machine.  After  deducting, 
in  any  one  particular  cafe,  all  that  muft  be  acknow- 
ledged to  proceed  from  fome  one  or  other  of  thefe  four 
principles,  I  fhould  be  glad  to  know  what  remains, 
and  I  (hall  freely  allow  this  overplus  to  be  afcribed 
to  a  moral  fenfe,  or  to  any  other  peculiar  faculty, 

provided 


$66  Of  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VI. 

provided  any  body  will  afcertain  precifely  what  this 
overplus  is.  It  might  be  expected,  perhaps,  that 
if  there  was  any  fuch  peculiar  principle,  foch  as 
this  moral  fenfe  is  luppofed  to  be,  we  mould  feel  it, 
in  fome  particular  cafes,  feparated  and  detached  from 
every  other,  as  we  often  feel  joy,  forrow,  hope, 
and  fear,  pure  and  unmixed  with  any  other  emotion. 
This  however,  I  imagine,  cannot  even  be  pretended. 
I  have  never  heard  any  inftance  alleged  in  which 
this  principle  could  be  faid  to  exert  itfelf  alone  and 
unmixed  with  fympathy  or  antipathy,  with  gratitude 
or  refentment,  with  the  perception  of  the  agreement 
or  difagreement  of  any  action  to  an  eflablifhed  rule, 
or  lad  of  all  with  that  general  tafte  for  beauty  and 
order  which  is  excited  by  inanimated  as  well  as  by 
animated  objects. 

II.  There  is  another  fyflem  which  attempts  to  ac- 
count for  the  origin  of  our  moral  fentiments  from 
fympathy  diftinct  from  that  which  I  have  been  en- 
deavouring to  eftablifh.     It  is  that  which  places  vir- 
tue in  utility,  and  accounts  for  the  pleafure  with 
which  the  fpectator  furveys  the  utility  of  any  quality 
from  fympathy  with  the  happinefs  of  thofe  who  are 
affected  by  it.     This  fympathy  is  different  both  from 
that  by  which  we  enter  into  the  motives  of  the  agent, 
and  from  that  by  which  we  go  along  with  the  grati- 
tude of  the  perfons  who  are  benefited  by  his  actions. 
It  is  the  fame  principle  with  that  by  which  we  ap- 
prove of  a  well  contrived  machine.     But  no  machine 
can  be  the  object  of  either  of  thofe  two  laft  mentioned 
fympathies.     I  have  already,  in  the  fourth  part  of 
this  difcourfe,  given  fome  account  of  this  fyftem. 

SECT- 


Sect.  IV.       of  Moral  Philosophy.        367 


SECTION      IV. 


Of  the  manner  in  which  different  authors  have  treated 
of  the  practical  rules  of  morality. 

X  T  was  obferved  in  the  third  part  of  this  difcourfe, 
that  the  rules  of  juftice  are  the  only  rules  of  morality 
which  are  precife  and  accurate ;  that  thofe  of  all  the 
other  virtues  are  loofe,  vague,  and  indeterminate; 
that  the  firft  may  be  compared  to  the  rules  of  gram- 
mar \  the  others  to  thofe  which  critics  lay  down  for 
the  attainment  of  what  is  fublime  and  elegant  in  com- 
pofition,  and  which  prefent  us  rather  with  a  general 
idea  of  the  perfection  we  ought  to  aim  at,  than  af- 
ford us  any  certain  and  infallible  directions  for  ac- 
quiring it. 

As  the  different  rules  of  morality  admit  fuch  dif- 
ferent degrees  of  accuracy,  thofe  authors  who  have 
endeavoured  to  collect  and  digeft  them  into  fyilems 
have  done  it  in  two  different  manners  ;  and  one  fet 
has  followed  thro'  the  whole  that  loofe  method  to 
which  they  were  naturally  directed  by  the  confidera- 
tion  of  one  fpecies  of  virtues  *,  while  another  has  as 
univerfally  endeavoured  to  introduce  into  their  pre- 
cepts that  fort  of  accuracy  of  which  only  fome  of 
them  are  fufceptible.  The  firft  have  wrote  like  cri- 
tics, the  fecond  like  grammarians. 

I.  The 


36S  Of  S  y  s  t  e  m  s  Part  VL 

I.  The  firft,  among  whom  we  may  count  all  the 
ancient  moralifts,  have  contented  themfelves  with 
defcribing  in  a  general  manner  the  different  vices  and 
virtues,  and  with  pointing  out  the  deformity  and 
mifery  of  the  one  difpofuion  as  well  as  the  pro- 
priety and  happinefs  of  the  other,  but  have  not  af- 
fected to  lay  down  many  precife  rules  that  are  to 
hold  good  unexceptionably  in  all  particular  cafes. 
They  have  only  endeavoured  to  afcertain,  as  far  as 
language  is  capable  of  afcertaining,  firft,  wherein 
confifts  the  fentiment  of  the  heart,  upon  which 
each  particular  virtue  is  founded,  what  fort  of  in- 
ternal feeling  or  emotion  it  is  which  conftitutes  the 
effence  of  friendfhip,  of  humanity,  of  generality, 
of  juftice,  of  magnanimity,  and  of  all  the  other 
virtues,  as  well  as  of  the  vices  which  are  oppofed 
tn  them  :  and,  fecondly,  What  is  the  general  way  of 
acting,  the  ordinary  tone  and  tenour  of  conduct  to 
which  each  of  thofe  fentiments  would  direct  us,  or 
how  it  is  that  a  friendly,  a  generous,  a  brave,  a  juft, 
and  a  humane  man,  would,  upon  ordinary  occafions, 
chufe  to  act. 

To  characterize  the  fentiment  of  the  heart,  upon 
which  each  particular  virtue  is  founded,  though  it 
requires  both  a  delicate  and  accurate  pencil,  is  a  tafk, 
however,  which  may  be  executed  with  fome  degree 
of  exactnefs.  It  is  impoflible,  indeed,  to  exprefs  all 
the  variations  which  each  fentiment  either  does  or 
ought  to  undergo,  according  to  every  poffible  varia- 
tion of  circumftances.  They  are  endlefs,  and  lan- 
guage wants  names  to  mark  them  by.  The  fenti- 
ment of  friendfhip,  for  example,  which  we  feel  for 
an  old  man  is  different  from  that  which  we  feel  for 

a  young : 


Sect.  IV.  of  Moral  Philosophy.  369 
a  young  :  that  which  we  entertain  for  an  auftere 
man  different  from  that  which  we  feel  for  one  of 
fofter  and  gentler  manners :  and  that  again  from 
what  we  feel  for  one  of  gay  vivacity  and  fpirit.  The 
friendfhip  which  we  conceive  for 'a  man  is  different 
from  that  with  which  a  woman  affects  us,  even 
where  there  is  no  mixture  of  any  groffer  paffion. 
What  author  could  enumerate  and  afcertain  thefe 
and  all  the  other  infinite  varieties  which  this  fenti- 
ment  is  capable  of  undergoing  ?  But  ftill  the  general 
fentiment  of  friendfhip  and  familiar  attachment 
which  is  common  to  them  all,  may  be  afcertained  with 
a  fufficient  degree  of  accuracy.  The  picture  which  is 
drawn  of  it,  though  it  will  always  be  in  many  refpects 
incomplete,  may,  however,  have  fuch  a  refemblance 
as  to  make  us  know  the  original  when  we  meet  with 
it,  and  even  diftinguifh  it  from  other  fentiments  to 
which  it  has  a  considerable  refemblance,  fuch  as  good- 
will, refpect,  efteem,  admiration. 

To  defcribe,  in  a  general  manner,  what  is  the  or- 
dinary way  of  acting  to  which  each  virtue  would 
prompt  us,  is  ftill  more  eafy.  It  is,  indeed,  fcarce 
poffible  to  defcribe  the  internal  fentiment  or  emotion 
upon  which  it  is  founded,  without  doing  fomething 
of  this  kind.  It  is  impoflible  by  language  to  ex- 
prefs,  if  I  may  fay  fo,  the  invifible  features  of  all 
the  different  modifications  of  pafiian  as  they  fhow 
themfelves  within.  There  is  no  other  way  of  mark- 
ing and  diftinguilhing  them  from  one  another,  but 
by  defcribing  the  effects  which  they  produce  with- 
out, the  aletrations  which  they  occafion  in  the 
countenance,  in  the  air  and  external  behaviour,  the 
refolutions  they  fuggeft,  the  actions  they  prompt  to. 
It  is  thus  that  Cicero,  in  the  firft  book  of  his  Of- 
B  b  flees. 


3jo  *     0/  Systems  Part  VI. 

fices,  endeavours  to  direct  us  to  the  practice  of  the 
four  cardinal  virtues,  and  that  Ariflotle  in  the  prac- 
tical parts  of  his  Ethics,  points  out  to  us  the  diffe- 
rent habits  by  which  he  would  have  us  regulate  our 
behaviour,  fuch  as  liberality,  magnificence,  magna- 
nimity, and  even  jocularity  and  good  humour,  qua- 
lities, which  that  indulgent  philolbpher  has  thought 
worthy  of  a  place  in  the  catalogue  of  the  virtues, 
though  the  lightnefs  of  that  approbation  which  we 
naturally  beftow  upon  them,  mould  not  feem  to  en- 
title them  to  fo  venerable  a  name. 

Such  works  prefent  us  with  agreeable  and  lively 
pictures  of  manners.  By  the  vivacity  of  their  de- 
fcriptions  they  inflame  our  natural  love  of  virtue, 
and  increafe  our  abhorrence  of  vice  :  by  the  juft- 
nefs  as  well  as  delicacy  of  their  obfervations  they 
may  often  help  both  to  correct  and  to  afcertain  our 
natural  fentiments  with  regard  to  the  propriety  of 
conduct,  and  fuggefling  many  nice  and  delicate  at- 
tentions, form  us  to  a  more  exact  juftnefs  of  be- 
haviour, than  what,  without  fuch  initruction,  we 
fhould  have  been  apt  to  think  of.  In  treating  of 
the  rules  of  morality,  in  this  manner,  confifts  the 
fcience  which  is  properly  called  Ethics,  a  fcience, 
which  though  like  criticifm,  it  does  not  admit  of  the 
mod:  accurate  precifion,  is,  however,both  highly  ufefui 
and  agreeable.  It  is  of  all  others  the  moll  fufcepti- 
ble  of  the  embellifliments  of  eloquence,  and  by  means 
of  them  of  bellowing,  if  that  be  poflible,  a  new  im- 
portance upon  the  fmalleft  rules  of  duty.  Its  pre- 
cepts, when  thus  drefled  and  adorned,  are  capable 
of  producing  upon  the  flexibility  of  youth,  the 
noblefl  and  moft  lafling  impreffions,  and  as  they 
fall  in  with  the  natural  magnanimity  of  that  gene- 
rous 


Sect.  IV.         o/Moral  Philosophy,         ^i 

rous  age,  they  are  able  to  infpire,  for  a  time  atleaft,* 
the  moft  heroic  resolutions,  and  thus  tend  both  to 
eftablifh  and  confirm  the  beft  and  moft  ufeful  habits 
of  which  the  mind  of  man  is  fufceptible.  What- 
ever precept  and  exhortation  can  do  to  animate  us  to 
the  practice  of  virtue,  is  done  by  this  fcience  de- 
livered in  this  manner. 

IL  Thefecond  fet  of  moralifts,  among  whom  we 
may  count  all  the  cafuifts  of  the  middle  and  latter 
ages  of  the  chriftian  church,  as  well  as  ail  thofe  who 
in  this  and  in  the  preceding  century  have  treated  of 
what  is  called  natural  jurifprudence,  do  not  content 
themfeives  with  characterizing  in  this  general  man- 
ner that  tenour  of  conduct  which  they  would  re- 
commend to  us,  but  endeavour  to  lay  down  exact 
and  precife  rules  for  the  direction  of  every  circum- 
ftance  of  our  behaviour.  As  juftice  is  the  only  virtue 
with  regard  to  which  iuch  exact  rules  can  properly 
be  given  -9  it  is  this  virtue,  that  has  chiefly  fallen 
under  the  confideration  of  thofe  two  different  fets  of 
writers.  They  treat  of  it,  however,  in  a  very  dif- 
ferent, manner. 

Thofe  who  write  upon  the  principles  of  jurifpru- 
dence, confider  only  what  the  perfon  to  whom  the 
obligation  is  due,  ought  to  think  himfelf  entitled  to 
exact  by  force  ;  what  every  impartial  fpectator  would 
approve  of  him  for  exacting,  or  what  a  judge  or 
arbiter,  to  whom  he  had  fubmitted  his  cafe,  and 
who  had  undertaken  to  do  him  juftice,  ought  to  oblige 
the  other  perfon  to  fuffer  or  to  perform.  The  ca- 
fuifts, on  the  other  hand,  do  not  fo  much  examine 
what  it  is,  that  might  properly  be  exacted  by  force, 
as  what  it  is,  that  the  perfon  who  owes  the  obligation 

B  b  2  ought 


• 


372  Of  Systems  Part  VL 

ought  to  think  himfelf  bound  to  perform  from  the 
mod  facred  and  fcrupulous  regard  to  the  general 
rules  of  juftice,  and  from  the  mod  confcientious 
dread,  either  of  wronging  his  neighbour,  or  of  vio- 
lating the  integrity  of  his  own  character.  It  is  the 
end  of  jurifprudence  to  prefcribe  rules  for  the  deci- 
fions  of  judges  and  arbiters.  It  is  the  end  of  ca- 
fuiftry  to  prefcribe  rules  for  the  conduct  of  a  good 
man.  By  obferving  all  the  rules  of  jurifprudence, 
fuppofing  them  ever  fo  perfect,  we  mould  deferve 
nothing  but  to  be  free  from  external  punifhment. 
By  obferving  thofe  of  cafuiftry,  fuppofing  them  fuch 
as  they  ought  to  be,  we  mould  be  entitled  to  confi- 
derable  praife  by  the  exact  and  fcrupulous  delicacy 
of  our  behaviour. 

It  may  frequently  happen  that  a  good  man  ought 
to  think  himfelf  bound,  from  a  facred  and  confcien- 
tious regard  to  the  general  rules  of  juftice  to  perform 
many  things  which  it  would  be  the  higheft  injuftice 
to  extort  from  him,  or  for  any  judge  or  arbiter  to 
impofe  on  him  by  force.  To  give  a  trite  example ; 
a  highwayman,  by  the  fear  of  death,  obliges  a  tra- 
veller to  promife  him  a  certain  fum  of  money. 
Whether  fuch  a  promife,  extorted  in  this  manner  by 
unjuft  force,  ought  to  be  regarded  as  obligatory,  is  a 
queftion  that  has  been  very  much  debated. 

If  we  confider  it  merely  as  a  queftion  of  jurifpru- 
dence, the  decifion  can  admit  of  no  doubt.  It 
would  be  abfurd  to  fuppofe  that  the  highwayman 
can  be  entitled  to  ufe  force  to  conftrain  the  other  to 
perform.  To  extort  the  promife  was  a  crime  which 
deferved  the  higheft  punifhment,  and  to  extort  the 
performance  would  only  be  adding  a  new  crime  to 

the 


Sect.  IV.     c/Moral  Philosophy.        373 

the  former.  He  can  complain  of  no  injury  who  has 
been  only  deceived  by  the  perfon  by  whom  he  might 
juftly  have  been  killed.  To  fuppofe  that  a  judge 
ought  to  enforce  the  obligation  of  fuch  promifes,  or 
that  the  magiftrate  ought  to  aliow  them  to  fuflain 
an  action  at  law,  would  be  the  moil  ridiculous  of  all 
abfurdities.  If  we  confider  this  queftion,  therefore, 
as  a  queftion  of  jurifprudence,  we  can  be  at  no  lofs 
about  the  decifion. 

But  if  we  confider  it  as  a  queftion  of  cafuiftry, 
it  will  not  be  fo  eafily  determined.  Whether  a  good 
man,  from  a  confcientious  regard  to  that  mod  facred 
rule  of  juftice,  which  commands  the  obfervance  of 
all  ferious  promifes,  would  not  think  himfelf  bound. 
to  perform,  is  at  lead  much  more  doubtful.  That 
no  regard  is  due  to  the  difappointment  of  the  wretch 
who  brings  him  into  this  fituation,  that  no  injury  is 
done  to  the  robber,  and  confequently  that  nothing 
can  be  extorted  by  force,  will  admit  of  no  fort  of 
difpute.  But  whether  fome  regard  is  not,  in  this 
cafe,  due  to  his  own  dignity  and  honour,  to  the  in- 
violable facrednefs  of  that  part  of  his  character 
which  makes  him  reverence  the  law  of  truth,  and 
abhor  every  thing  that  approaches  to  treachery  and 
falfehood,  may,  perhaps,  more  reafonably  be  made 
a  queftion.  The  cafuifts  accordingly  are  greatly  di- 
vided about  it.  One  party,  with  whom  we  may 
count  Cicero  among  the  ancients,  among  the  mo- 
derns, Puffendorf,  Barbeyrac  his  commentator,  and 
above  all  the  late  Dr.  Hutchefon,  one  who  in  mod 
cafes  was  by  no  means  a  loofe  cafuift,  determine, 
without  any  hefitation,  that  no  fort  of  regard  is  due 
to  any  fuch  promife,  and  that  to  think  otherwife  is 
B  b  p.  mere 


374-  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

mere  weaknefs  and  fiiperftition.  Another  party, 
among  whom  we  may  reckon  *  fome  of  the  ancient 
fathers  of  the  church,  as  well  as  fome  verv  eminent 
modern  cafuifts,  have  been  of  another  opinion,  and 
have  judged  all  fuch  promifes  obligatory. 

If  we  confider  the  matter  according  to  the  com- 
mon fentiments  of  mankind,  we  Ihall  find  that  fome 
regard  would  be  thought  due  even  to  a  promife  of 
this  kind  ;  but  that  it  is  impofiible  to  determine  how 
much,  by  any  general  rule  that  will  apply  to  all  cafes 
without  exception.  The  man  who  was  quite  frank 
and  eafy  rn  making  promifes  of  this  kind,  and  who 
violated  them  with  as  little  ceremony,  we  mould  not 
choofe  for  our  friend  and  companion.  A  gentleman 
who  mould  promife  a  highwayman  five  pounds  and 
not  perform,  would  incur  fome  blame.  If  the  fum 
promifed,  however,  was  very  great,  it  night  be 
more  doubtful,  what  was  proper  to  be  dome.  If  it 
was  fuch,  for  example,  that  the  payment  of  it  would 
entirely  ruin  the  family  of  the  promifer,  if  it  was  fo 
great  as  to  be  fufficient  for  promoting  the  moll 
ufeful  purpofes,  it  would  appear  in  fome  meafure 
criminal,  at  leaft  extremely  improper,  to  throw 
it,  for  the  fake  of  a  punctilio,  into  fuch  worth- 
lefs  hands.  The  man  who  mould  beggar  him- 
felf,  or  who  mould  throw  away  an  hundred 
thoufand  pounds,  though  he  could  afford  that 
vail  fum,  for  the  fake  of  obferving  fuch  a  parole 
with  a  thief,  would  appear  to  the  common  fenfe  of 
mankind,  abfurd  and  extravagant  in  the  higheft  de- 
gree. Such  profufion  would  feem  inconfiftent  with 
his   duty,  with  what  he  owed  both  to  himfelf  and 

others^ 

*  St>Auguftine,  la  Placctte. 


Sect.  IV.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         37$ 

others,  and  what,  therefore,  regard,  to  a  promife  ex- 
torted in  this  manner,  could  by  no  means  authorize. 
To  fix,  however,  by  any  precife  rule,  what  degree 
of  regard  ought  to  be  paid  to  it,  or  what  might  be 
the  greateft  fum  which  could  be  due  from  it,  is  evi- 
dently impofiible.  This  would  vary  according  to 
the  characters  of  the  perfons,  according  to  their  cir- 
cumftances,  according  to  the  folemnity  of  the  promife, 
and  even  according  to  the  incidents  of  the  rencoun^ 
ter  :  and  if  the  promifer  had  been  treated  with  a  great 
deal  of  that  fort  of  gallantry,  which  is  fometimes  to 
be  met  with  in  perfons  of  the  moll  abandoned  cha- 
racters, more  would  feem  due  than  upon  other  occa- 
fions.  It  may  be  faid  in  general,  that  exact  propriety 
requires  the  obfervance  of  all  fuch  promifes,  when- 
ever it  is  not  inconfiftent  with  fome  other  duties  that 
are  more  facred  •,  fuch  as  regard  to  the  public  in- 
terest, to  thofe  whom  gratitude,  whom  natural  affec- 
tion, or  whom  the  laws  of  proper  beneficence  fhould 
prompt  us  to  provide  for.  But,  as  was  formerly 
taken  notice  of,  we  have  no  precife  rules  to  determine 
what  external  actions  are  due  from  a  regard  to  fuch 
motives,  nor,  confequently,  when  it  is  that  thofe 
virtues  are  inconfiftent  with  the  obfervance  of  fuch 
promifes. 

It  is  to  be  obferved,  however,  that  whenever  fuch 
promifes  are  violated,  though  for  the  mod  necefiary 
reafons,  it  is  always  with  fome  degree  of  difhonour 
to  the  perfon  who  made  them.  After  they  are  made, 
we  may  be  convinced  of  the  impropriety  of  obferv- 
ing  them.  But  ftill  there  is  fome  fault  in  having 
made  them.  It  is  at  leaft  a  departure  from  the 
higheft  and  nobleft  maxims  of  magnanimity  and  ho- 
B  b  4  nour. 


$]6  Of  Systems  Part  VL 

nour.  A  brave  man  ought  to  die,  rather  than  make 
a  promiie  which  he  can  neither  keep  without  folly, 
nor  violate  without  ignominy.  For  fome  degree  of 
ignominy  always  attends  a  fituation  of  this  kind. 
Treachery  and  falfehood  are  vices  fo  dangerous,  fo 
dreadful,  and,  at  the  fame  time,  fuch  as  may  foeafily, 
and,  upon  many  occafions,  fo  fafely  be  indulged,  that 
we  are  more  jealous  of  them  than  of  almoft  any 
other.  Our  imagination  therefore  attaches  the  idea 
of  fhame  to  all  violations  of  faith,  in  every  circum- 
ftance  and  in  every  fituation.  They  refemble,  in 
this  refpect,  the  violations  of  chaftity  in  the  fair  fex, 
a  virtue  of  which,  for  the  like  reafons,  we  are  excef- 
fively  jealous  -,  and  our  fentiments  are  not  more  de- 
licate with  regard  to  the  one,  than  with  regard  to  the 
other.  Breach  of  chaftity  difhonours  irretrievably. 
No  circumftances,  no  folicitation  can  excufe  it ;  no 
forrow,  no  repentance  atone  for  it.  We  are  fo  nice 
in  this  refpect  that  even  a  rape  difhonours,  and  the 
innocence  of  the  mind  cannot,  in  our  imagination, 
warn  out  the  pollution  of  the  body.  It  is  the  fame 
cafe  with  the  violation  of  faith,  when  it  has  been  fo- 
lemnly  pledged,  even  to  the  mod  worthlefs  of  man- 
kind. Fidelity  is  fo  neceffary  a  virtue,  that  we  ap- 
prehend it  in  general  to  be  due  even  to  thofe  to  whom 
nothing  elfe  is  due,  and  whom  we  think  it  lawful  to 
kill  and  deftroy.  It  is  to  no  purpofe  that  the  perfon 
who  has  been  guilty  of  the  breach  of  it,  urges  that  he 
promifed  in  order  to  fave  his  life,  and  that  he  broke 
his  promife  becaufe  it  was  inconfiftent  with  fome 
other  refpe&able  duty  to  keep  it.  Thefe  circum- 
ftances may  alleviate,  but  cannot  entirely  wipe  out 
hU  difhonour.  He  appears  to  have  been  guilty  of; 
an  action  with  which,  in  the  imaginations  of  men, 
fome  degree  of  fhame  is  infeparably  connected.     He 

has 


Sect.  IV.       of  Moral   Philosophy.         377 

has  broke  a  promife  which  he  had  folemnly  averred 
he  would  maintain  •,  and  his  character,  if  not  irre- 
trievably ftained  and  polluted,  has  at  lead  a  ridicule 
affixed  to  it,  which  it  will  be  very  difficult  entirely 
to  efface  •,  and  no  man,  I  imagine,  who  had  gone 
through  an  adventure  of  this  kind,  would  be  fond  of 
telling  the  (lory. 

This  inftance  may  ferve  to  (how  wherein  confifts 
the  difference  between  cafuiftry  and  jurifprudence, 
even  when  both  of  them  confider  the  obligations  of 
the  general  rules  of  juftice. 

But  though  this  difference  be  real  and  efTential, 
though  thofe  two  fciences  propofe  quite  different 
ends,  the  famenefs  of  the  Subject  has  made  fuch  a 
fimilarity  between  them,  that  the  greater  part  of  au- 
thors whofe  profeflfed  defign  was  to  treat  of  jurif- 
prudence, have  determined  the  different  queftions 
they  examine,  fometimes  according  to  the  principles 
of  that  fcience,  and  fometimes  according  to  thofe  of 
cafuiftry,  without  diftinguilhing,  and,  perhaps,  with- 
out being  themfelves  aware  when  they  did  the  one, 
and  when  the  other. 

The  doctrine  of  the  cafuifts,  however,  is  by  no 
means  confined  to  the  confideration  of  what  a  con- 
scientious regard  to  the  general  rules  of  juftice,  would 
demand  of  us.  It  embraces  many  other  parts  of 
Chriftian  and  moral  duty.  What  feems  principally 
to  have  given  occafion  to  the  cultivation  of  this 
fpecies  of  fcience  was  the  cuftom  of  auricular  con- 
feffion,  introduced  by  the  Roman  Catholic  fuperfti- 
tion^  in  times  of  barbarifm  and  ignorance.     By  that 

inftitution, 


37$  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

inftitution,  the  mod  fecret  actions,  and  even  the 
thoughts  of  every  perfon,  which  could  be  fufpected 
of  receding  in  the  imalleft  degree  from  the  rules  of 
Chriftian  purity,  were  to  be  revealed  to  the  confefibr. 
The  confefibr  informed  his  penitents  whether,  and  in 
what  refpect  they  had  violated  their  duty,  and  what 
penance  it  behoved  them  to  undergo,  before  he 
could  abfolve  them  in  the  name  of  the  offended 
Deity. 

The  con  fcioufnefs,  or  even  the  fufpicion  of  having 
done  wrong,  is  a  load  upon  every  mind,  and  is  ac- 
companied with  anxiety  and  terrour  in  all  thofe  who 
are  not  hardened  by  long  habits  of  iniquity.  Men, 
in  this,  as  in  all  other  diftrefifes,  are  naturally  eager  to 
difburthen  themfelves  of  the  oppreflion  which  they 
feel  upon  their  thoughts,  by  unbofoming  the  agony 
of  their  mind  to  fome  perfon  whofe  fecrecy  and  dif- 
cretion  they  can  confide  in.  The  fiiame,  which  they 
fuffer  from  this  acknowledgment,  is  fully  compen- 
lated  by  that  alleviation  of  their  uneafinefs  which 
the  fympathy  of  their  confident  feldom  fails  to  occa- 
iion.  It  relieves  them  to  find  that  they  are  not  alto- 
gether unworthy  of  regard,  and  that  however  their 
paft  conduct  may  be  cenfured,  their  prefent  difpo- 
iition  is  at  leaft  approved  of,  and  is  perhaps  fufficient 
to  compenfate  the  other,  at  leaft  to  maintain  them  in 
fome  degree  of  efteem  with  their  friend.  A  nume- 
rous and  artful  clergy  had,  in  thofe  times  of  fuper- 
itiiion,  infwuated  themfelves  into  the  confidence  of 
almoft  every,  private  family.  They  pofiefifed  all  the 
little  learning  which  the  times  could  afford,  and  their 
manners,  though  in  many  refpects  rude  and  difor- 
derly,  were  polifhed  and  regular  compared  with  thofe 
of  the  age  they  livej  in.  They  were  regarded,  there- 
fore, 


Sect.  IV.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         379 

fore,  not  only  as  the  great  directors  of  all  religious, 
but  of  all  moral  duties.  Their  familiarity  gave  re- 
putation to  whoever  was  fo  happy  as  to  poffefs  it, 
and  every  mark  of  their  difapprobation  (lamped  the 
deeped  ignominy  upon  all  who  had  the  misfortune 
to  fall  under  it.  Being  confidered  as  the  great  judges 
of  right  and  wrong,  they  were  naturally  confuked 
about  all  fcruples  that  occurred,  and  it  was  reputable 
for  any  perfon  to  have  it  known  that  he  made  thoie 
holy  men  the  confidents  of  all  fuch  fecrets,  and  took 
no  important  or  delicate  ftep  in  his  conduct  without 
their  advice  and  approbation.  It  was  not  difficult 
for  the  clergy,  therefore,  to  get  it  eftablifhed  as  a  ge- 
neral rule,  that  they  mould  be  entrufted  with  what 
it  had  already  become  falhionable  to  entruft  them, 
and  with  what  they  generally  would  have  been  en- 
trufted though  no  fuch  rule  had  been  eftablifhed. 
To  qualify  themfelves  for  confefibrs  became  thus  a 
neceflary  part  of  the  ftudy  of  churchmen  and  divines, 
and  they  were  thence  led  to  collect  what  are  called 
cafes  of  conlcience,  nice  and  delicate  fituations,  in 
which  it  is  hard  to  determine  whereabouts  the  propri- 
ety of  conduct  may  lie.  Such  works,  they  ima- 
gined, might  be  of  ufe  both  to  the  directors  of  con- 
ferences and  to  thole  who  were  to  be  directed  ;  and 
hence  the  origin  of  books  of  cafuiftry. 

The  moral  duties  which  fell  under  the  confidera- 
tion  of  the  cafuifts  were  chiefly  thofe  which  can,  in 
ibme  meafure  at  leaft,  be  circumfcribed  within  gene- 
ral rules,  and  of  which  the  violation  is  naturally  at- 
tended with  fome  degree  of  remorfe  and  fome  dread 
of  fuffering  punifhment.  The  defign  of  that  inftitu- 
tion  which  gave  occafion  to  their  works,  was  to  ap- 
peafe  thoje  terrours  of  confeience  which  attend  upon 

the 


380  O/Systems  Part  VI, 

the  infringement  of  fuch  duties.  But  it  is  not  every 
virtue  of  which  the  defect  is  accompanied  with  any 
very  fevere  compunctions  of  this  kind,  and  no  man 
applies  to  his  confelTor  .for  absolution,  becaufe  he  did 
not  perform  the  mod  generous,  the  moft  friendly, 
or  the  moft  magnanimous  action  which,  in  his  cir- 
cumftances,  it  was  pofiible  to  perform.  In  failures 
of  this  kind,  the  rule  that  is  violated  is  commonly 
not  very  determinate,  and  is  generally  of  fuch  a  na- 
ture too,  that  though  the  obfervance  of  it  might  en- 
title to  honour  and  reward,  the  violation  feems  to  ex- 
pole  to  no  pofitive  blame,  cenfure,  or  punifhment. 
The  exercife  of  fuch  virtues  the  cafuifts  ieem  to  have 
regarded  as  a  fort  of  works  of  fupererogation,  which 
could  not  be  very  ftrictly  enacted,  and  which  it  was 
therefore  unnecefiary  for  them  to  treat  of. 

The  breaches  of  moral  duty,  therefore,  which 
came  before  the  tribunal  of  the  confeflbr,  and  upon 
that  account  fell  under  the  cognizance  of  the  cafuifts, 
were  chiefly  of  three  different  kinds. 

Firft  and  principally,  breaches  of  the  rules  of 
juftice.  The  rules  here  are  all  exprefs  and  pofitive, 
and  the  violation  of  them  is  naturally  attended 
with  the  confcioufnefs  of  deferving,  and  the  dread 
of  fuffering  punifhment  both  from  God  and  man. 

Secondly,  breaches  of  the  rules  of  chaftity.  Thefe 
in  all  groffer  inftances  are  real  breaches  of  the  rules 
of  juftice,  and  no  perfon  can  be  guilty  of  them  with- 
out doing  the  moft  unpardonable  injury  to  fome 
other.  In  fmaller  inftances,  when  they  amount  only 
,  to  a  violation  of  thofe  exact  decorums  which  ought 

to 


Sect.  IV.        of  Moral  Philosophy.         381 

to  be  obferved  in  the  converfation  of  the  two  fexes, 
they  cannot  indeed  juftly  be  confidered  as  violations 
of  the  rules  of  jultice.  They  are  generally,  how- 
ever, violations  of  a  pretty  plain  rule,  and,  at 
lead  in  one  of  the  fexes,  tend  to  bring  ignominy  up- 
on the  perfon  who  has  been  guilty  of  them,  and  con- 
iequently  to  be  attended  in  the  fcrupulous  with  fome 
degree  of  fhame  and  contrition  of  mind. 

Thirdly,  breaches  of  the  rules  of  veracity.  The 
violation  of  truth,  it  is  to  be  obferved,  is  not  always 
a  breach  of  ju  dice,  though  it  is  fo  upon  many  occa- 
fions,  and  confequently  cannot  always  expofe  to  any 
external  punifhment.  The  vice  of  common  lying, 
though  a  mod  miferable  meannefs,  may  frequently 
do  hurt  to  no  perfon,  and  in  this  cafe  no  claim  of 
vengeance  or  fatisfa&ion  can  be  due  either  to  the 
perfons  impofed  upon,  or  to  others.  But  though 
the  violation  of  truth  is  not  always  a  breach  of  juf- 
tice, it  is  always  a  breach  of  a  very  plain  rule,  and 
what  naturally  tends  to  cover  with  fhame  the  perfon 
whohas  been  guilty  of  it.  The  great  pleafure  of 
converfation,  and  indeed  of  fociety,  arifes  from  a 
certain  correfpondence  of  fentiments  and  opinions, 
from  a  certain  harmony  of  minds,  which  like  fo 
many  mufical  inflruments  coincide  and  keep  time 
with  one  another.  But  this  mod  delightful  harmony 
cannot  be  obtained  unlefs  there  is  a  free  communica- 
tion of  fentiments  and  opinions.  We  all  defire, 
upon  this  account,  to  feel  how  each  other  is  affected, 
to  penetrate  into  each  other's  bofoms,  and  to  obferve 
the  fentiments  and  affections  which  really  fubfift 
there.  The  man  who  indulges  us  in  this  natural  paf- 
fion,  who  invites  us  into  his  heart,  who,  as  it  were, 
fets  open  the  gates  of  his  bread  to  us,  feems  to  exer- 

cife 


382  O/Systems  Part  VI. 

cife  a  fpecies  of  hofpitality  more  delightful  than  any 
other.  No  man,  who  is  in  ordinary  good  temper, 
can  fail  of  pleafing,  if  he  has  the  courage  to  utter 
his  real  Ientiments  as  he  feels  them,  and  becaufe  he 
feels  them.  It  is  this  unreferved  fincerity  which  ren- 
ders even  the  prattle  of  a  child  agreeable.  How 
weak  and  imperfect  foever  the  views  of  the  open- 
hearted,  we  take  pleaiure  to  enter  into  them,  and  en- 
deavour, as  much  as  we  can,  to  bring  down  our  own 
underftanding  to  the  level  of  their  capacities,  and  to 
regard  every  iubject  in  the  particular  light  in  which 
they  appear  to  have  conftdered  it.  This  pafTion  to 
difcover  the  real  Ientiments  of  others  is  naturally  fo 
ftrong,  that  it  often  degenerates  into  a  troublelbme 
and  impertinent  curiofity  to  pry  into  thole  fecrets  of 
our  neighbours  which  they  have  very  juftifiable  rea- 
fons  for  concealing,  and,  upon  many  occafions,  it 
requires  prudence  and  a  ftrong  fenie  of  propriety  ta 
govern  this,  as  well  as  all  the  other  paflions  of  hu- 
man nature,  and  to  reduce  it  to  that  pitch  which  any 
impartial  fpectator  can  approve  of.  To  difappoint 
this  curiofity,  however,  when  it  is  kept  within  pro- 
per bounds,  and  aims  at  nothing  which  there  can  be 
any  juft  reafon  for  concealing,  is  equally  difagreeable 
in  its  turn.  The  man  who  eludes  our  mod  innocent 
queftions,  who  gives  no  fatisfaction  to  our  moft  in- 
offenfive  inquiries,  who  plainly  wraps  himfelf  up  in 
impenetrable  obfcurity,  feems,  as  it  were,  to  build  a 
wall  about  his  bread.  We  run  forward  to  get  within 
it,  with  all  the  eagernefs  of  harmlefs  curiofity,  and 
feel  ourfelves  all  at  once  pufhed  back  with  the  rudeft 
and  moft  offenfive  violence.  If  to  conceal  is  fo  dif- 
agreeable, to  attempt  to  deceive  us  is  (till  more  dif- 
gufting,  even  though  we  could  pofiibly  fuffer  no- 
thing by  the  fuccefs  of  the  fraud.     If  we  fee  that  our 

companion 


Se6t.  IV.       of  Moral  Philosophy.         383 

companion  wants  to  impofe  upon  us,  if  the  fenti- 
ments  and  opinions  which  he  utters  appear  evidently 
not  to  be  his  own,  let  them  be  ever  fo  fine,  we  can 
derive  no  fort  of  entertainment  from  them  \  and  if 
fomething  of  human  nature  did  not  now  and  then 
tranfpire  through  all  the  covers  which  falfehood  and 
affectation  are  capable  of  wrapping  around  it,  a  pup- 
pet of  wood  would  be  altogether  as  pleafant  a  com- 
panion as  a  perfon  who  never  fpoke  as  he  was  affected. 
No  man  ever  deceives,  with  regard  to  the  moft  infig- 
nificant  matters,  who  is  not  confcious  of  doing  fome- 
thing like  an  injury  to  thofe  he  converfes  with  ;  and 
who  does  not  inwardly  blufh  and  fhrink  back  with 
fhame  and  confufion  even  at  the  fecret  thought  of  a 
detection.  Breach  of  veracity,  therefore,  being  al- 
ways attended  with  lbme  degree  of  remorfe  and  felf- 
condemnation,  naturally  fell  under  the  cognizance 
of  the  cafuifts. 

The  chief  fubjects  of  the  works  of  the  cafuifts, 
therefore,  were  the  confcientious  regard  that  is  due 
to  the  rules  of  juftice  ;  how  far  we  ought  to  refpecc 
the  life  and  property  of  our  neighbour;  the  duty  of 
reflitution  ;  the  laws  of  chaftity  and  modefty,  and 
wherein  coniifted  what,  in  their  language,  are  called 
the  fins  of  concupifcence :  the  rules  of  veracity,  and 
the  obligation  of  oaths,  promifes,  and  contracts  of 
all  kinds. 

It  may  be  faid  in  general  of  the  works  of  the  ca- 
fuifts that  they  attempted,  to  no  purpofe,  to  direct 
by  precife  rules  what  belongs  to  feeling  and  fentiment 
only  to  judge  of.  How  is  it  poflible  to  afcertain  by 
rules  the  exact  point  at  which,  in  every  cafe,  a  deli- 
cate fenfe  of  juftice  begins  to  run  into  a  frivolous  and 

weak 


384  Of  Systems  Part  VI. 

weak  fcrupulofity  of  confcience  ?  When  it  is  that  fe- 
crecy  and  referve  begin  to  grow  into  diflimulation  ? 
How  far  an  agreeable  irony  may  be  carried,  and  at 
what  precife  point  it  begins  to  degenerate  into  a  de- 
teftable  lie  ?  What  is  the  higheft  pitch  of  freedom 
and  eafe  of  behaviour  which  can  be  regarded  as 
graceful  and  becoming,  and  when  it  is  that  it  firft 
begins  to  run  into  a  negligent  and  thoughtlefs  licen- 
tioufnefs?  With  regard  to  all  fuch  matters,  what 
would  hold  good  in  any  one  cafe  would  fcarce  do  fo 
exactly  in  any  other,  and  what  conftitutes  the  propri- 
ety and  happinefs  of  behaviour  varies  in  every  cafe 
with  thefmaileft  variety  of  fituation.  Books  of  ca- 
fuiftry,  therefore,  are  generally  as  ufelefs  as  they  are 
commonly  tirefome.  They  could  be  of  little  ufe  to 
one  who  mould  confult  them  upon  occafion,  even 
fuppofing  their  decifions  to  be  juft  -,  becaufe,  notwith- 
ftanding  the  multitude  of  cafes  collected  in  them, 
yet  upon  account  of  the  flill  greater  variety  of  pofli- 
ble  circumftances,  it  is  a  chance,  if  among  all  thofe 
cafes  there  be  found  one  exactly  parallel  to  that  under 
confideration.  One,  who  is  really  anxious  to  do  his 
duty,  muft  be  very  weak,  if  he  can  imagine  that 
he  has  much  occafion  for  them  ;  and  with  regard  to 
one  who  is  negligent  of  it,  the  ftyle  of  thofe  writings 
is  not  fuch  as  is  likely  to  awaken  him  to  more  atten- 
tion. None  of  them  tend  to  animate  us  to  what  is 
generous  and  noble.  None  of  them  tend  to  foften 
us  to  what  is  gentle  and  humane.  Many  of  them, 
on  the  contrary,  tend  rather  to  teach  us  to  chicane 
with  our  own  confeiences,  and  by  their  vain  fubtil- 
ties  ferve  to  authorize  innumerable,  evafive  refine- 
ments with  regard  to  the  moil  eifential  articles  of  our 
duty.  That  frivolous  accuracy  which  they  attempt- 
ed to  introduce  intafubje&s  which  do  not  admit  of 

it, 


Sect.  IV.        of  Moral  Philosophy,         585 

it,  almoft  neceflarily  betrayed  them  into  thofe  danger 
rous  errours,  and  at  the  fame  time  rendered  their 
works  dry  and  difagreeable,  abounding  in  abftrufe 
and  metaphyfical  distinctions,  but  incapable  of  ex- 
citing in  the  heart  any  of  thofe  emotions  which  it  is 
the  principal  ufe  of  books  of  morality  to  excite* 

The  two  nfeful  parts  of  moral  philofophy,  there- 
fore, are  Ethics  and  Jurifprudence :  cafuiftry  ought 
to  be  rejected  altogether,  and  the  ancient  moraltfts 
appear  to  have  judged  much  better,  who,  in  treating 
of  the  fame  fubjects,  did  not  affect  any  fuch  nice 
exactnefs,  but  contented  themfelves  with  defcribing, 
in  a  general  manner,  what  is  the  fentiment  upon 
which  juftice,  modefty,  and  veracity  are  founded, 
and  what  is  the  ordinary  way  of  acting  to  which  thole 
virtues  would  commonly  prompt  us. 

Something,  indeed,  not  unlike  the  doctrine  of 
the  cafuifls,  feems  to  have  been  attempted  by  feve- 
ral  philofophers.  There  is  fomething  of  this  kind 
in  the  third  book  of  Cicero's  Offices,  where  he  en- 
deavours like  a  cafuift  to  gives  rules  for  our  conduct 
in  many  nice  cafes,  in  which  it  is  difficult  to  deter- 
mine whereabouts  the  point  of  propriety  may  lie.  It 
appears  too,  from  many  paflages  in  the  fame  books 
that  feveral  other  philofophers  had  attempted  fome- 
thing of  the  fame  kind  before  him.  Neither  he  nor 
they,  however,  appear  to  have  aimed  at  giving  a 
complete  fyftem  of  this  fort,  but  only  meant  to  fhow 
how  fituations  may  occur,  in  which  it  is  doubtful* 
whether  the  higheft  propriety  of  conduct  confifts  in 
obferving  or  in  receding  from  what,  in  ordinary 
cafes,  are  the  rules  of  duty. 

C  c  Everv 


386  O/Svstems  Part  VI. 

Every  fyftem  of  pofitive  law  may  be  regarded  as 
a   more  or  lefs  imperfect  attempt  towards  a  fyftem 
of  natural  jurifprudence,  or  towards  an  enumeration 
of  the  particular  rules  of  juftice.     As  the  violation  of 
juftice  is  what  men  will  never  fubmit  to  from  one 
another,  the  public  magiftrate  is  under  a  neceflity  of 
employing  the  power  of  the  commonwealth  to  enforce 
the  practice  of  this  virtue.     Without  this  precaution, 
civil  fociety  would  become  a  fcene  of  bloodfhed  and 
diforder,  every  man  revenging  himfelf  at  his  own 
hand  whenever  he  fancied  he  was  injured.     To  pre- 
vent the  confufion  which  would  attend  upon  every 
man's  doing  juftice  to  himfelf,  the  magiftrate,  in  all 
governments  that  have  acquired  any  confiderable  au- 
thority,   undertakes  to  do  juftice  to  all,   and  promi- 
fes  to  hear  and  to  redrefs  every  complaint  of  injury. 
In  all  well-governed  ftates  too,   not  only  judges  are 
appointed  for  determining  the  controverfies  of  indi- 
viduals, but  rules  are  prefcribed  for  regulating  the 
decifions  of  thofe  judges ;    and  thefe  rules  are,   in 
general,   intended  to  coincide  with  thofe  of  natural 
juftice.     It   does  not,   indeed,   always   happen  that 
they  do   fo   in  every  inftance.     Sometimes  what  is 
called  the  conftitution  of  the  ftate,  that  is,  the  in- 
tereft  of  the  government ;  fometirnes  of  the  inter- 
eft  of  particular  orders  of  men  who  tyrannize  the 
government,  warp  the  pofitive  laws  of  the  country 
from  what  natural  juftice  would  prefcribe.     In  fome 
countries,  the  rudenefs  and  barbarifm  of  the  people 
hinder  the-natural  fentiments  of  juftice  from  arriving 
at  that  accuracy  and  precifion  which,  in  more  civi- 
lized nations,  they  naturally  attain   to.     Their  laws 
are,  like  their  manners,  grofs  and  rude  and  undif- 
tinguiQiing.      Ir  other   countries    the   unfortunate 
conftitution  of  their  courts  of  judicature  hinders  any 
regular  fyftem  of  jurifprudence  from  ever  eftablifh- 


ing 


Se6l.lV.      of  Moil  Ah  Philosophy.        387 

ing  itfelf  among  them,  though  the  improved  manners 
of  the  people  may  be  fuch  as  would  admit  of  the 
mod  accurate.  In  no  country  do  the  decifions  of 
pofitive  law  coincide  exactly,  in  every  cafe,  with 
the  rules  which  the  natural  ienfe  of  juftice  would 
dictate*  Syftems  of  pofitive  law,  therefore,  though 
they  deferve  the  greatest  authority,  as  the  records  of 
the  fentiments  of  mankind  in  different  ages  and  na- 
tions, yet  can  never  be  regarded  as  accurate  fyftems 
of  the  rules  of  natural  juftice. 

It  might  have  been  expected  that  the  feafonings 
of  lawyers,  upon  the  different  imperfections  and  im- 
provements of  the  laws  of  different  countries,  ihould 
have  given  occafion  to  an  inquiry  into  what  were  the 
natural  rules  of  juftice  independent  of  all  pofitive 
inftitution.  It  might  have  been  expected  that  thele 
reafonings  fnould  have  led  them  to  aim  at  eftablifh- 
ing  a  fyftem  of  what  might  properly  be  called  na- 
tural jurifprudence,  or  a  theory  of  the  general  prin- 
ciples which  ought  to  run  through  and  be  the  foun- 
dation of  the  laws  of  all  nations.  But  tho'  the  rea- 
fonings of  lawyers  did  produce  fomething  of  this 
kind,  and  though  no  man  has  treated  fyftematically 
of  the  laws  of  any  particular  country,  without  in- 
termixing in  his  work  many  obfervationsof  this  fort  -t 
it  was  very  late  in  the  world  before  any  fuch  general 
fyftem  was  thought  of,  or  before  the  philofophy  of 
law  was  treated  of  by  itfelf,  and  without  regard  to 
the  particular  inftitutions  of  any  one  nation.  In  none 
of  the  ancient  moralifts,  do  we  find  any  attempt  to- 
wards a  particular  enumeration  of  the  rules  of  juftice* 
Cicero  in  his  Offices,  and  Ariftotle  in  his  Ethics, 
treat  of  juftice  in  the  fame  general  manner  in  which 
they  treat  of  all  the  other  virtues.  In  the  laws  of 
C  c  2  Cicero 


3«8    "  Of  Systems,^.  Part  VI. 

Cicero  and  Plato,  where  we  might  naturally  have  ex- 
pected fome  attempts  towards  an  enumeration  of  thofe 
rules  of  natural  equity,  which  ought  to  be  enforced  by 
the  pofitive  laws  of  every  country,  there  is  however, 
nothing  of  this  kind.  Their  laws  are  laws  of  police, 
not  of  juftice.  Grotius  feems  to  have  been  the  firft, 
who  attempted  to  giv*e  the  world  any  thing  like  a 
fyftem  of  thofe  principles  which  ought  to  run  through, 
and  be  the  foundation  of  the  laws  of  all  nations  •,  and 
his  treatife  of  the  laws  of  war  and  peace,  with  all 
its  imperfections,  is  perhaps  at  this  day  the  mod 
complete  work  that  has  yet  been  given  upon  this 
fubjedt.  I  fhali  in  another  difcourfe  endeavour  to 
give  an  account  of  the  general  principles  of  law  and 
government,  and  of  the  different  revolutions  they 
have  undergone  in  the  different  ages  and  periods  of 
fociety,  not  only  in  what  concerns  juftice,  but  in 
what  concerns  police,  revenue,  and  arms,  and  what- 
ever elfe  is  the  object  of  law.  I  mall  not,  therefore, 
at  prefent  enter  into  any  further  detail  concerning  the 
hiftory  of  jurifprudence. 


THE    END. 


C   3*9   ] 
C  O  N  S  I  D  E  R  A  T  I  O  N  S 

Concerning  the  FIRST 

FORMATION  of  LANGUAGES, 

AND       THE 

Different    Genius    of   original    and    compounded 
LANGUAGES. 


_JL  H  E  aflignation  of  particular  names,  to  denote 
particular  objects,  that  is,  the  inftitution  of  nouns 
fubftantive,  would,  probably,  be  one  of  the  firfc 
fteps  towards  the  formation  of  language.  Two 
favages,  who  had  never  been  taught  to  fpeak,  but 
had  been  bred  up  remote  from  the  focieties  of  men, 
would  naturally  begin  to  form  that  language  by 
which  they  would  endeavour  to  make  their  mutual 
wants  intelligible  to  each  other,  by  uttering  certain 
founds,  whenever  they  meant  to  denote  certain  objects* 
Thofe  objects  only  which  were  mofl  familiar  to  them, 
and  which  they  had  mofl:  frequent  occafion  to  men- 
tion, would  have  particular  names  ailigned  to  themu 
The  particular  cave  whole  covering  fheltered  them 
from  the  weather,  the  particular  tree  whofe  fruit 
relieved  their  hunger,  the  particular  fountain  whole 
water  allayed  their  third,  would  firfl  be  denoted  by 
the  words  cave,  free,  fountain,  or  by  whatever  other 
C  c  3  appellations 


39Q  FORMATION  OF 

appellations  they  might  think  proper,  in  that  primi- 
tive jargon,  to  mark  them.  Afterwards,  when  the 
more  enlarged  experience  of  thefe  favages  had  led 
them  to  obferve,  and  their  neceflary  occafions 
obliged  them  to  make  mention  of,  other  caves,  and 
other  trees,  and  other  fountains,  they  would  natu- 
rally beftow,  upon  each  of  thofe  new  objects,  the 
lame  name,  by  which  they  had  been  accuftomed  to 
expreis  the  fimilar  object  they  were  firft  acquainted 
with.  The  new  objects  had  none  of  them  any  namp 
of  its  own,  but  each  of  them  exactly  refembled  ano- 
ther object,  which  had  fuch  an  appellation.  It  was 
Jmpoflible  that  thofe  favages  could  behold  the  new 
objects,  without  recollecting  the  old  ones  ;  and  the 
name  of  the  old  ones,  to  which  the  new  bore  fo  clofe 
a  retemblance.  When  they,  had  occafion,  therefore, 
to  mention,  or  to  point  out  to  each  other,  any  of  the 
new  objects,  they  would  naturally  utter  the  name  of 
the  correspondent  old  one,  of  which  the  idea  could  not 
fail,  at  that  inftant,  to  prefent  itfelf  to  their  memory 
jn  the  ftrongeft  and  liyelieft  manner.  And  thus, 
thofe  words,  which  were  originally  the  proper  names 
of  individuals,  would  each  of  them  infenfibly  become 
the  common  name  of  a  multitude.  A  child  that  is 
juft  learning  to  fpeak,  calls  every  perfon  who  comes 
to  the  houfe  its  papa  or  its  mama  j  and  thus  beflows 
upon  the  whole  fpecies  thofe  names  which  it  had  been 
taught  to  apply  to  two  individuals.  I  have  known  a 
clown,  who  did  not  know  the  proper  name  of  the  ri- 
ver which  ran  by  his  own  door.  It  was  the  rivery  he 
faid,  and  hs  never  heard  any  other  name  for  it. 
His  experience,  it  feems,  had  not  led  him  to  obferve 
any  other  river.  The  general  word  river  ^  there  - 
fore,  was,  it  is  evident,  in  his  acceptance  of  it,  a 
proper  name,  fignifying  an  individual  object.     If  this 

perfon 


LANGUAGES.  391 

perfon  had  been  carried  to  another  river,  would  he 
not  readily  have  called  it  a  river  ?  Could  we  fup- 
pofe  any  perfon  living  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames 
fo  ignorant,  as  not  to  know  the  general  word  river  * 
but  to  be  acquainted  only  with  the  particular  word 
Thames,  if  he  was  brought  to  any  other  river,  would 
he  not- readily  call  it  a  "Thames?  This,  in  reality,  is 
no  more  than  what  they,  who  are  well  acquainted 
with  the  general  word,  are  very  apt  to  do.  An 
Englifhman,  defcribingany  great  river  which  he  may 
have  feen  in  fome  foreign  country,  naturally  fays, 
that  it  is  another  Thames.  The  Spaniards,  when 
they  firft  arrived  upon  the  coaft  of  Mexico,  and  ob- 
ferved  the  wealth,  populoufnefs,  and  habitations  of 
that  fine  country,  fo  much  fuperior  to  the  favage  na- 
tions which  they  had  been  vifiting  for  fome  time  be- 
fore, cried  out,  that  it  was  another  Spain.  Hence  it 
was  called  New  Spain  ;  and  this  name  has  ftuck  to 
that  unfortunate  country  ever  fince.  We  fay,  in  the 
fame  manner,  of  a  hero,  that  he  is  an  Alexander ;  of 
an  orator,  that  he  is  a  Cicero ;  of  a  philofopher,  that 
he  is  a  Newton.  This  way  of  fpeaking,  which  the 
grammarians  call  an  Antonomafia,  and  which  is  Hill 
extremely  common,  though  now  not  at  all  necefiary, 
demonftrates  how  much  mankind  are  naturally  dif- 
pofed  to  give  to  one  object:  the  name  of  any  other, 
which  nearly  refembles  it,  and  thus  to  denominate  a 
multitude,  by  what  originally  was  intended  to  exprefs 
an  individual. 

It  is  this  application  of  the  name  of  an  individual 
to  a  great?  multitude  of  objects,  whofe  refemblance 
naturally  recalls  the  idea  of  that  individual,  and  of 
the  name  which  expreffes  it,  that  feems  originally  to 
have  given  occafion  to  the  formation  of  thofe  clafies 

C  c  4  and 


392  FORMATION   OF 

and  affortments,  which,  in  the  fchools,  are  called 
genera  and  fpecies,  and  of  which  the  ingenious  and 
eloquent  M.  Rouffeau  of  Geneva*,  finds  himfelf 
fo  much  at  a  lofs  to  account  for  the  origin.  What 
constitutes  a  fpecies  is  merely  a  number  of  objects, 
bearing  a  certain  degree  of  relemblance  to  one  ano- 
ther, and  on  that  account  denominated  by  a  fingle 
appellation,  which  may  be  applied  to  exprefs  any 
one  of  them. 

When  the  greater  part  of  objects  had  thus  been  ar- 
ranged under  their  proper  claffes  and  affortments, 
diftinguifhed  by  fuch  general  names,  it  was  impof- 
iible  that  the  greater  part  of  that  almoft  infinite  num- 
ber of  individuals,  comprehended  under  each  particu- 
lar afibrtment  or  fpecies,  could  have  any  peculiar  or 
proper  names  of  their  own,  diflinct  from  the  general 
name  of  the  fpecies.  When  there  was  occafion, 
therefore,  to  mention  any  particular  object,  it  often 
became  neceffary  to  diftinguifh  it  from  the  other  ob- 
jects comprehended  under  the  fame  general  name, 
either,  firft,  by  its  peculiar  qualities  -,  or,  fecondly, 
by  the  peculiar  relation  which  it  flood  in  to  fome 
other  things.  Hence  the  neceffary  origin  of  two  other 
fets  of  words,  of  which  the  one  ftiould  exprefs  qua- 
lity ;  the  other  relation. 

Nouns  adjective  are  the  words  which  exprefs  qua- 
lity confidered  as  qualifying,  or,  as  the  fchoolmen 
fay,  in  concrete  with,  fome  particular  fubject.  Thus 
the  word  green  expreffes  a  certain  quality  confidered 
as  qualifying,  or  as  in  concrete  with,  the  particular 

fubject 

*  Origine  de  1'Inegalite.      Partie  premiere,    p.   376,  377, 
Edition  d'Amfterdam/tles  Oeuvres  diverfes  de  J.  J.  RoufTeau, 


LANGUAGES.  393 

fubject  to  which  it  may  be  applied.  Words  of  this 
kind,  it  is  evident,  may  ferve  to  diftinguifh  particu- 
lar objects  from  others  comprehended  under  the  fame 
general  appellation.  The  words  green  tree,  for 
example,  might  ferve  to  diftinguifh  a  particular  tree 
from  others  that  were  withered  or  blafted. 

Prepofnions  are  the  words  which  exprefs  relation 
confidered,  in  the  fame  manner,  in  concrete  with  the 
co-relative  object.  Thus  the  prepofnions  of,  to,  for9 
with,  by,  above,  below,  &c.  denote  fome  relation  ful- 
filling between  the  objects  expreffed  by  the  words 
between  which  the  prepofitions  are  placed  ;  and  they 
denote  that  this  relation  is  confidered  in  concrete  with 
the  co-relative  object.  Words  of  this  kind  ferve  to 
diftinguifh  particular  objects  from  others  of  the  fame 
fpecies,  when  thofe  particular  objects  cannot  be  fo 
properly  marked  out  by  any  peculiar  qualities  of 
their  own.  When  we  fay,  the  green  tree  of  the  meadowy 
for  example,  we  diftinguifh  a  particular  tree,  not 
only  by  the  quality  which  belongs  to  it,  but  by  the 
relation  which  it  ftands  in  to  another  object. 

As  neither  quality  nor  relation  can  exift  in  abftract, 
it  is  natural  to  fuppofe  that  the  words  which  denote 
them  confidered  in  concrete,  the  way  in  which  we 
always  fee  them  fubfift,  would  be  of  much  earlier 
invention,  than  thofe  which  exprefs  them  confidered 
in  abftract,  the  way  in  which  we  never  fee  them  fub- 
fift. The  words  green  and  blue  would,  in  all  proba- 
bility, be  fooner  invented  than  the  words  greennefs 
and  bluenefs  ,  the  words  above  and  below,  than  the 
words  fuperiority  and  inferiority.  To  invent  words 
of  the  latter  kind   requires  a  much  greater  effort  of 

abftraction 


394  FORMATION   OF 

abftraction  than  to  invent  thofe  of  the  former.  It  is 
probable,  therefore,  that  fuch  abftract  terms  would 
be  of  much  later  inftitution.  Accordingly,  their 
etymologies  generally  mow  that  they  are  fo,  they 
being  generally  derived  from  others  that  are  con- 
crete. 

But  though  the  invention  of  nouns  adjective  be 
much  more  natural  than  that  of  the  abftract  nouns 
fubftantive  derived  from  them,  it  would  ftill,  howe- 
ver, require  a  confiderable  degree  of  abftraction  and 
generalization.  Thofe,  for  example,  who  firft  in- 
vented the  words,  green,  blue,  red,  and  the  other 
names  of  colours,  muft  have  obferved  and  compared 
together  a  great  number  of  objects,  muft  have  re- 
marked their  refemblances  and  diflimilitudes  in  re- 
flect of  the  quality  of  colour,  and  muft  have  ar- 
ranged them,  in  their  own  minds,  into  different 
clafles  and  afibrtments,  according  to  thofe  refem- 
blances and  diffimilitudes.  An  adjective  is  by  na- 
ture a  general,  and  in  fome  meafure,  an  abftract  word, 
and  neceflarily  prefuppofes  the  idea  of  a  certain  fpe- 
cies  or  afibrtment  of  things,  to  all  of  which  it  is 
equally  applicable.  The  word  green  could  not,  as  we 
were  fuppofing  might  be  the  cafe  of  the  word  cave, 
have  been  originally  the  name  of  an  individual,  and 
afterwards  have  become,  by  what  grammarians  call 
an  Antonomafia  the  name  of  a  fpecies.  The  word 
green  denoting,  not  the  name  of  a  fubftance,  but  the 
peculiar  quality  of  a  fubftance,  muft  from  the  very 
firft  have  been  a  general  word,  and  confidered  as 
equally  applicable  to  any  other  fubftance  pofTeiTed 
of  the  fame  quality.  The  man  who  firft  diftinguifhed 
a  particular  object  by  the  epithet  of  green,  muft  have 
obferved   other  objects   that  were  not  green,  from 

which 


LANGUAGES.  39S 

which  he  meant  to  feparate  it  by  this  appellation. 
The  inditution  of  this  name,  therefore,  fuppofes 
companion.  It  likewiie  fuppofes  fome  degree  of  al> 
(traction.  The  perlbn  who  firft  invented  this  appel- 
lation mud  have  didinguifhed  the  quality  from  the 
object  to  which  it  belonged,  and  mud  have  conceived 
the  object  as  capable  of  fubfifling  without  the  qua- 
lity. The  invention,  therefore,  even  of  the  fimpleft 
nouns  adjective,  mud  have  required  more  metaphy- 
fics  than  we  are  apt  to  be  aware  of.  The  different 
mental  operations,  of  arrangement  or  claffing,  of 
companion,  and  of  abstraction,  mud  all  have 
been  employed,  before  even  the  names  of  the  differ- 
ent colours,  the  lead  metaphyfical  of  all  nouns  ad- 
jective, could  be  indituted.  From  all  which  I  infer, 
that  when  languages  were  beginning  to  be  formed, 
nouns  adjective  would  by  no  means  be  the  words  of 
the  earlied  invention. 

There  is  another  expedient  for  denoting  the  dif- 
ferent qualities  of  different  fubdances,  which  as  it  re- 
quires no  abdraction,  nor  any  conceived  feparation 
of  the  quality  from  the  fubject,  feems  more  natural 
than  the  invention  of  nouns  adjective,  and  which, 
upon  this  account,  could  hardly  fail,  in  the  fird 
formation  of  language,  to  be  thought  of  before  them. 
This  expedient  is  to  make  fome  variation  upon  the 
noun  fubdantive  itfelf,  according  to  the  different  qua- 
lities which  it  is  endowed  with.  Thus,  in  many  lan- 
guages, the  qualities  both  of  fex  and  of  the  want  of 
fex,  are  expreffed  by  different  terminations  in  the 
nouns  fubdantive,  which  denote  objects  fo  qualified. 
In  Latin,  for  example,  lupus,  lupa  ;  equus,  equa-,  ju- 
vencus,  juvenca ;  Julius,  Julia ;  Lucretius,  Lucretia, 
&C.  .denote  the  qualities  of  male  and  female  in  the 


396  FORMATION  OF 

animals  and  perfons  to  whom  fuch  appellations  be- 
long, without  needing  the  addition  of  any  adjective 
for  this  purpofe.  On  the  other  hand,  the  words  fo- 
rum, pratum,  plauftrum,  denote  by  their  peculiar  ter- 
mination the  total  abfence  of  fex  in  the  different  fub- 
flances  which  they  fland  for.  Both  fex,  and  the  want 
of  all  fex,  being  naturally  confidered  as  qualities 
modifying  and  infeparable  from  the  particular  fub- 
ftances  to  which  they  belong,  it  was  natural  to  exprefs 
them  rather  by  a  modification  in  the  noun  fubftan- 
tive,  than  by  any  general  and  abftract  word  expreflive 
of  this  particular  fpecies  of  quality.  The  expreflion 
bears,  it  is  evident,  in  this  way,  a  much  more  exad 
analogy  to  the  idea  or  object  which  it  denotes,  than 
in  the  other.  The  quality  appears,  in  nature,  as  a 
modification  of  the  fubftance,  and  as  it  is  thus  ex- 
preffed,  in  language,  by  a  modification  of  the  noun 
iubftantive,  which  denotes  that  fubftance,  the  qua- 
lity and  the  fubject  are,  in  this  cafe,  blended  toge- 
ther, if  I  may  fay  fo,  in  the  exprefTion,  in  the  fame 
manner,  as  they  appear  to  be  in  the  object  and  in  the 
idea.  Hence  the  origin  of  the  mafculine,  feminine, 
and  neutral  genders,  in  all  the  ancient  languages.  By 
means  of  thefe,  the  mod  important  of  all  distincti- 
ons, that  of  fubftances  into  animated  and  inanimated, 
and  that  of  animals  into  male  and  female,  feem  to 
have  been  fufflciently  marked  without  the  affiftance 
of  adjectives,  or  of  any  general  names  denoting  this 
mod  extenfive  fpecies  of  qualifications. 

There   are  no  more  than  thefe  three  genders  m 

any  of  the  languages  with  which  I  am  acquainted  •, 

that  is  to  fay,   the  formation  of  nouns  fubftantive, 

can,  by  itfelf,  and  without  the  accompaniment  of  ad- 

^  jectives, 


LANGUAGES. 


97 


je&ives,  exprefs  no  other  qualities  but  thofe  three 
above-mentioned,  the  qualities  of  male,  of  female,  of 
neither  male  nor  female.  I  mould  not,  however, 
be  furprifed,  if,  in  other  languages  with  which  I  am 
unacquainted,  the  different  formations  of  nouns  fub- 
ftantive  ihould  be  capable  of  expreffing  many  other 
different  qualities.  The  different  diminutives  of  the 
Italian,  and  of  fome  other  languages,  do,  in  reality, 
fometimes,  exprefs  a  great  variety  of  different  modi- 
fications in  the  fubftances  denoted  by  thofe  nouns 
which  undergo  fuch  variations. 

It  was  impoffible,  however,  that  nouns  fubftan- 
tive  could,  without  lofing  altogether  their  original 
form,  undergo  fo  great  a  number  of  variations,  as 
would  be  fufficient  to  exprefs  that  almoft  infinite  va- 
riety of  qualities,  by  which  it  might,  upon  different 
occafions,  be  neceffary  to  fpecify  and  diftinguim. 
them.  Though  the  different  formation  of  nouns 
fubftantive,  therefore,  might,  for  fome  time,  fore- 
ftall  the  neceffity  of  inventing  nouns  adjective,  it  was 
impoffible  that  this  neceffity  could  be  foreftalled  alto- 
gether. When  nouns  adjective  came  to  be  invented,, 
it  was  natural  that  they  fhould  be  formed  with  fome 
fimilarity  to  the  fubflantives,  to  which  they  were  to 
ferve  as  epithets  or  qualifications.  Men  would  na- 
turally give  them  the  fame  terminations  with  the  fub- 
ftantives  to  which  they  were  firft  applied,  and  from 
that  love  of  fimilarity  of  found,  from  that  delight  in 
the  returns  of  the  fame  fyllables,  which  is  in  the 
foundation  of  analogy  in  all  languages,  they  would 
be  apt  to  vary  the  termination  of  the  fame  adjective, 
according  as  they  had  occafion  to  apply  it  to  a  maf- 
culine,  to  a  feminine,  or  to  a  neutral  fubftantive, 

thief 


398  FORMATION  OF 

They  would  fay,  magnus  lupus,  magna  lupa^  magnum 
pratum,  when  they  meant  to  exprefs  a  great  he  wolf, 
a  great  Jhe  wolf,  a  great  meadow. 

This  variation,  in    the  termination   of   the    noun 
adjective,  according  to  the  gender  of  the  fubftantive, 
which  takes  place  in  all  the  ancient  languages,  feems 
to  have  been  introduced  chiefly  for  the  fake  of  a  cer- 
tain fimilarity  of  found,  of  a  certain  fpecies  of  rhyme, 
which  is   naturally  fo  very  agreeable  to  the  human 
ear.     Gender,  it  is  to   be  obferved,  cannot  properly 
belong  to  a  noun  adjective,  the  fignification  of  which 
is  always  precifely  the  fame,  to  whatever  fpecies  of 
fubftantives   it  is  applied.     When  we  fay,  a  great 
man,  a  great  woman,  the  word  great  has  precifely  the 
fame  "meaning  in  both  cafes,  and  the  difference  of  the 
fex  in  the  fubjects  to  which  it  may  be  applied,  makes 
no  fort  of  difference  in  its  fignification.     Magnus, 
magna,   magnum,   in  the  fame   manner,    are  words 
which   exprefs    precifely  the  fame   quality,  and  the 
change  of  the   termination  is  accompanied  with  no 
fort  of  variation  in  the  meaning.     Sex  and  gender  are 
qualities  which  belong  to  fubftances,   but  cannot  be- 
long to  the  qualities  of  fubftances.     In  general,  no 
quality,  when  confidered  in  concrete,  or  as  qualifying 
fome  particular  fubject,  can  itfclf  be  conceived  as  the 
fubject  of  any  other  quality  •,    though  when  confi- 
dered in  abftract   it  may.     No  adjective  therefore 
can  qualify  any  other  adjective.     A  great  good  man, 
means  a  man.who  is  both  great  and  good.     Both  the 
adjectives  qualify  the  fubftantive  •,  they  do  not  qua- 
lify one  another.     On  the  other  hand,   when  we  fay, 
the  great  goodnefs  of  the  man,  the  word  goo dnefs  deno- 
ting a  quality  conficjered  in  abftract,  which  may  it- 
felf  be  the  fubject  of  other  qualities,  is  upon  that 

account 


LANGUAGES.  399 

account  capable  of  being  qualified    by  the  word, 
great. 

If  the  original  invention  of  nouns  adje&ive  would 
be  attended  with  fo  much  difficulty,  that  of  prepofi- 
tions  would  be  accompanied  with  yet  more.     Every 
prepofition,  as  I  have  already  obferved,  denotes  fome 
relation  confidered  in  concrete  with  the  co-relative 
object.     The  prepofition  above,  for  example,  denotes 
the  relation  of  fuperiority,  not  in  abftract,  as   it  is 
cxprefftd  by  the  word  fuperiority,   but  in  concrete 
with  fome  co-relative  object.     In  this  phrafe,  for  ex- 
ample, the  tree  above  the  cave,  the  word  above,  ex- 
prefTes  a  certain  relation  between  the  tree  and  the 
cave,  and  it  exprefles  this  relation  in  concrete  with 
the  co- relative  object,  the  cave.     A  prepofition  al- 
ways requires,  in  order  to  complete  the  fenfe,   fome 
other  word  to  come  after  it ;  as  may  be  obferved  in 
this  particular  inftance.     Now,  I  fay,  the  original 
invention  of  fuch  words  would  require  a  yet  greater 
effort  ofabftra&ion  and  generalization,  than  that  of 
nouns  adjective.     Firft  of  all,  a  relation  is,   in  itfelf, 
a  more  metaphyfical  objed  than  a  quality.     Nobody 
can  be  at  a  lots  to  explain  what  is  meant  by  a  quali- 
ty ;  but  few  people  will  find  themfelves  able  to  ex- 
prefs,  very  diftindtly,  what  is  underftood   by  a  rela- 
tion.    Qualities  are  almoft  always  the  objects  of  our 
external  fenfes  -,  relations  never  are.     No   wonder, 
therefore,  that  the  one  fet  of  objects  mould  be  fo 
much  more  comprehenfible  than  the  other.     Second- 
ly, though  prepofitions  always  exprefs  the  relation 
which  they  (land  for,  in  concrete  with  the  co-relative 
object,  they  could  not  have  originally  been  formed 
without  a  confiderable  effort  of  abftraction.     A  pre- 
pofition denotes  a  relation,  and  nothing  but  a  relation. 

But 


4oo  FORMATIONOF 

But  before  men  could  inftitute  a  word,  which 
fignified  a  relation,  and  nothing  but  a  relation, 
they  mud  have  been  able,  in  fome  meaiure,  to  con- 
fider  this  relation  abftractedly  from  the  related  ob- 
jects •,  fince  the  idea  of  thofe  objects  does  not,  in  any 
refpect,  enter  into  the  fignification  of  the  prepofition. 
The  invention  of  luch  a  word,  therefore,  muft  have 
required  a  confiderable  degree  of  abftraction.  Third- 
ly, a  prepofition  is  from  its  nature  a  general  word, 
which,  from  its  very  firft  inftitution,  muft  have 
been  confidered  as  equally  applicable  to  denote  any 
other  fimilar  relation.  The  man  who  firft  invented 
the  word  above,  muft  not  only  have  diftinguifhed,  in 
fome  meafure,  the  relation  of  fuperiority  from  the  ob- 
jects which  were  fo  related,  but  he  muft  alio  have 
diftinguilhed  this  relation  from  other  relations,  fuch 
as,  from  the  relation  of  inferiority  denoted  by  the 
word  below,  from  the  relation  of  juxtapofition>  ex- 
preffed  by  the  word  befede,  and  the  like.  He  muft 
have  conceived  this  word,  therefore,  as  exprefllve  of 
a  particular  fort  or  fpecies  of  relation  diftinct  from 
every  other,  which  could  not  be  done  without  a 
confiderable  effort  of  comparifon  and  generalization. 

Whatever  were  the  difficulties,  therefore,  which 
embarrafled  the  firft  invention  of  nouns  adjective, 
the  fame,  and  many  more,  muft  have  embarrafied 
that  of  prepofitions.  If  mankind,  therefore,  in  the 
firft  formation  of  languages,  feem  to  have,  for  fome 
time,  evaded  the  neceility  of  nouns  adjective,  by 
varying  the  termination  of  the  names  of  fubftances, 
according  as  thefe  varied  in  fome  of  their  moft  impor- 
tant qualities,  they  would  much  more  find  them- 
felves  under  the  neceility  of  evading,  by  fome  fimi- 
lar contrivance,  the  yet  more  difficult  invention  of 

prepofitions. 


LANGUAGES.  401 

prepofitions.  The  different  cafes  in  the  ancient 
languages  is  a  contrivance  of  precifely  the  fame  kincf . 
The  genitive  and  dative  cafes,  in  Greek  and  Latin, 
evidently  fupply  the  place  of  the  prepofitions  3  and 
by  a  variation  in  the  noun  fubftantive,  which  (lands 
for  the  co- relative  term,  exprefs  the  relation  which 
i'ubfi (Is  between  what  is  denoted  by  that  noun  fub- 
ftantive, and  what  is  expreffed  by  fome  other  word 
in  the  fentence.  In  thefe  expreffions,  for  example, 
fruclus  arborise  the  fruit  of  the  tree ;  facer  Herculi, 
f acred  to  Horcules ;  the  variations  made  in  the  co- re- 
lative words,  arbor  and  Hercules,  exprefs  the  fame 
relations  which  are  expreffed  in  Englifh  by  the  prepo- 
fitions </and  to. 

To  exprefs  a  relation  in  this  manner,  did  not  re- 
quire any  effort  of  abftra&ion.  It  was  not  here  ex- 
preffed by  a  peculiar  word  denoting  relation  and  no-, 
thing  but  relation,  but  by  a  variation  upon  the  co- 
relative  term.  It  was  expreffed  here,  as  k  appears  in 
nature,  not  as  fomething  feparaced  and  detached,  but 
as  thoroughly  mixed  and  blended  with  the  co- rela- 
tive object. 

To  exprefs  relation  in  this  manner,  did  not  require 
any  effort  of  generalization.  The  words  arboris  and 
Herculi,  while  they  involve  in  their  fignification  the 
fame  relation  expreffed  by  the  Englifh  prepofitions 
of  and  to,  are  not,  like  thofe  prepofitions,  general 
words,  which  can  be  applied  to  exprefs  the  fame  re- 
lation between  whatever  other  objects  it  might  be 
obferved  to  fubfift. 

To  exprefs  relation  in  this  manner  did  not  require 
any  effort  of  comparifon.     The  words  arboris  and 

D  d  Herculi 


402  FORMATION    0  F 

Herculi  are  not  general  words  intended  to  denote  a 
particular  fpecies  of  relations  which  the  inventors  of 
rhofe  expreflions  meant,  in  confequence  of  fome  fort 
cf  comparifon,  to  feparate  and  diftinguifh  from 
every  other  fort  of  relation.  The  example,  indeed, 
of  this  contrivance  would  foon  probably  be  fol- 
lowed, and  whoever  had  occafion  to  exprefs  a  firm- 
lar  relation  between  any  other  objedts  would  be  very 
apt  to  do  it  by  making  a  fimilar  variation  on  the 
name  of  the  co-relative  object.  This,  I  fay,  would 
probably,  or  rather  certainly  happen  •,  but  it  would 
happen  without  any  intention  or  forefight  in  thofe 
who  firft  fet  the  example,  and  who  never  meant  to 
eftablifh  any  general  rule.  The  general  rule  would 
eftabliih  itfelf  infenfibly,  and  by  flow  degrees,  in 
confequence  of  that  love  of  analogy  and  fimilarity 
of  found,  which  is  the  foundation  of  by  far  the 
greater  part  of  the  rules  of  grammar. 

To  exprefs  relation  therefore,  by  a  variation  in 
the  name  of  the  co-relative  object,  requiring  neither 
abstraction,  nor  generalization,  nor  comparifon  of 
any  kind,  would,  at  firft,  be  much  more  natural  and 
eafy,  than  to  exprefs  it  by  thofe  general  words  called 
prepofitions,  of  which  the  firft  invention  mud  have 
demanded  fome  degree  of  all  thofe  operations. 

The  number  of  cafes  is  different  in  different  lan- 
guages. There  are  five  in  the  Greek,  fix  in  the 
Latin,  and  there  are  faid  to  be  ten  in  the  Armenian 
language.  It  mud  have  naturally  happened  that 
there  mould  be  a  greater  or  a  fmaller  number  of 
cafes,  according  as  in  the  terminations  of  nouns  fub- 
ftantive  the  firft  formers  of  any  language  happened 
to  have  eftablifhed  a  greater  or  a  fmaller  number  of 

variations, 


LANGUAGES.  405 

variations,  in  order  to  exprefs  the  different  relations 
they  had  occafion  to  take  notice  of,  before  the  in- 
vention of  thofe  more  general  and  abflracl:  prepofi- 
tions  which  could  fupply  their  place. 

It  is,  .perhaps,  worth  while  to  obferve  that  thofe 
prepofitions,  which  in  modern  languages  hold  the 
place  of  the  ancient  cafes,  are,  of  all  others,  the 
mod  genera],  and  abflracl:,  and  metaphyfical ;  and 
of  confequence,  would  probably  be  the  laft  invented. 
Afk  any  man  of  common  acutenefs,  "What  relation 
is  expreffed  by  the  prepofition  above  ?  He  will  readily 
anfwer,  that  offuperiority.  By  the  prepofition  below  ? 
He  will  as  quickly  reply,  that  of  inferiority.  But  afk 
him,  what  relation  is  expreffed  by  the  prepofition  of, 
and,  if  he  has  not  beforehand  employed  his  thoughts 
a  good  deal  upon  thefe  fubjedls,  you  may  fafely 
allow  iiim  a  week  to  confider  of  his  anfwer.  The 
prepofitions  above  and  below  do  not  denote  any  of 
the  relations  expreffed  by  the  cafes  in  the  ancient 
languages.  But  the  prepofition  of,  denotes  the  fame 
relation,  which  is  in  them  expreffed  by  the  genitive 
cafe ;  and  which,  it  is  eafy  to  obferve,  is  of  a  very 
metaphyfical  nature.  The  prepofition  of  denotes 
relation  in  general,  confidered  in  concrete  with  the 
co-yrelative  object.  It  marks  that  the  noun  fub- 
ftantive  which  goes  before  ir,  is  fomehow  or  other 
related  to  that  which  comes  after  it,  but  without  in 
any  refpecl  afcertaining,  as  is  done  by  the  prepofition 
above,  what  is  the  peculiar  nature  of  that  relation. 
We  often  apply  ir,  therefore,  to  exprefs  the  moft 
oppofite  relations  •,  becaufe,  the  moft  oppofite  rela- 
tions agree  fo  far  that  each  of  them  comprehends  in 
it  the  general  idea  or  nature  of  a  relation.  We  fay, 
the  father  of  the  fon,  and  the  f on  of  the  father  ±  the 
D  d  2  fir- 


404  FORMATION    OF 

fir-trees  of  the  foreft,  and  the  foreft  of  the  fir-trees. 
The  relation  in  which  the  father  (lands  to  the  fon, 
is,  it  is  evident,  a  quite  oppofite  relation  to  that  in 
which  the  fon  (lands  to  the  father  \  that  in  which  the 
parts  Hand  to  the  whole,  is  quite  oppofite  to  that  in 
which  the  whole  {lands  to  the  parts.  The  word  of 
however,  ferves  very  well  to  denote  all  thofe  rela- 
tions, becaufe  in  itfelf  it  denotes  no  particular  rela- 
tion, but  only  relation  in  general  »,  and  lb  far  as  any 
particular  relation  is  collected  from  fuch  expreffions, 
it  is  inferred  by  the  mind,  not  from  the  prepofition 
itfelf,  but  from  the  nature  and  arrangement  of  the 
fubflantives,  between  which  the  prepofition  is  placed. 

What  I  have  faid  concerning  the  prepofition  of, 
may  in  fome  meafure  be  applied  to  the  prepofitions, 
to,  for,  with,  by,  and  to  whatever  other  prepofitions 
are  made  ufe  of  in  modern  languages,  to  fupply  the 
place  of  the  ancient  cafes.  They  all  of  them  ex- 
prefs  very  abftracl:  and  metaphyseal  relations,  which 
any  man,  who  takes  the  trouble  to  try  it,  will  find 
it  extremely  difficult  to  exprefs  by  nouns  fubftantive, 
in  the  fame  manner  as  we  may  exprefs  the  relation 
denoted  by  the  prepofition  above,  by  the  noun  fub- 
ftantive fuperiority.  They  all  of  them,  however,  ex- 
prefs fome  fpecific  relation,  and  are,  confequently, 
none  of  them  fo  abftracl:  as  the  prepofition  of, 
which  may  be  regarded  as  by  far  the  moft  meta- 
physeal of  all  prepofitions.  The  prepofitions  there- 
fore, which  are  capable  of  fupply ing  the  place  of 
the  ancient  cafes,  being  more  abftracl:  than  the  other 
prepofitions,  would  naturally  be  of  more  difficult 
invention.  The  relations  at  the  fame  time  which 
thofe  prepoiitioss  exprefs,  are,  of  all  others,  thofe 
which  we  have  moft  frequent  occafion  to  mention. 

The 


LANGUAGES.  405 

The  prepofitions  above,  below,  near,  within,  without, 
againft,  &c.  are  much  more  rarely  made  ufe  of,  in 
modern  languages,  than  the  prepofitions  of,  to,  for, 
with,  from,  by,  A  prepofnion  of  the  former  kind 
will  not  occur  twice  in  a  page ;  we  can  fcarce  com- 
pofe  a  fingle  fentence  without  the  afTiftance  of  one 
or  two  of  the  latter.  If  thefe  latter  prepofitions, 
therefore,  which  fupply  the  place  of  the  cafes, 
would  be  of  fuch  difficult  invention  on  account  of 
their  abftractednefs,  fome  expedient,  to  fupply  their 
place,  mud  have  been  of  indifpenfable  necefiity,  on 
account  of  the  frequent  occafion  which  men  have  to 
take  notice  of  the  relations  which  they  denote.  But 
there  is  no  expedient  fo  obvious,  as  that  of  varying 
the  termination  of  one  of  the  principal  words. 

It  is,  perhaps,  unneceffary  to  obferve,  that  there 
are  fome  of  the  cafes  in  the  ancient  languages,  which, 
for  particular  reafons,  cannot  be  reprefented  by  any 
prepofitions.  Thefe  are  the  nominative,  accufative, 
and  vocative  cafes.  In  thofe  modern  languages^ 
which  do  not  admit  of  any  fuch  variety  in  the  ter- 
minations of  their  nouns  fubftantive,  the  corre- 
fpondent  relations  are  exprefied  by  the  place  of  the 
words,  and  by  the  order  and  conftruction  of  the  fen- 
tence. 

As  men  have  frequently  occafion  to  make  men- 
tion  of  multitudes  as  well  as  of  fingle  objects,  it 
became  necefTary  that  they  mould  have  fome  method 
of  exprefiing  number.  Number  may  be  expreffed 
either  by  a  particular  word,  exprefiing  number  in 
general,  fuch  as  the  words  many,  more,  &c.  or  by 
fome,  variation  upon  the  words  which  exprefs  the 
things  numbered.  It  is  this  laft  expedient  which 
D  d  3  mankind 


4o6  FORMATION    OF 

mankind  would  probably  have  recourfe  to,  in  the 
infancy  of  language.  Number,  confidered  in  gene* 
raff  without  relation  to  any  particular  fet  of  objects 
numbered,  is  one  of  the  mod  abftract  and  me- 
taphyseal ideas,  which  the  mind  of  man  is  capable 
of  forming  •,  and,  confequently,  is  not  an  idea, 
which  would  readily  occur  to  rude  mortals,  who 
were  juft  beginning  to  form  a  language.  They 
would  naturally,  therefore,  diftinguifh  when  they 
talked  of  a  fingle,  and  when  they  talked  of  a  mul- 
titude of  objects,  not  by  any  metaphyseal  adjectives, 
luch  as  the  Englifh,  a,  an,  many*  but  by  a  variation 
upon  the  termination  of  the  word  which  fignified 
the  objects  numbered.  Hence  the  origin  of  the 
fingular  and  plural  numbers,  in  all  the  ancient  lan- 
guages j  and  the  fame  diftinction  has  likewife  been 
retained  in  all  the  modern  languages,  at  lead,  in  the 
greater  part  of  words. 

All  primitive  and  nncompounded  languages  feem 
to  have  a  dual,  as  well  as  a  plural  number.  This 
is  the  cafe  of  the  Greek,  and  I  am  told  of  the  He- 
brew, of  the  Gothic,  and  of  many  other  languages. 
In  the  rude  beginnings  of  fociety,  one,  two,  and  more, 
might  poflibly  be  all  the  numeral  diflinctions  which 
mankind  would  have  any  occafion  to  take  notice  of. 
Thefe  they  would  find  it  more  natural  to  exprefs, 
by  a  variation  upon  every  particular  noun  fubftan- 
tive,  than  by  fuch  general  and  abftract  words  as  one, 
two,  three,  four,  &c.  Thefe  words,  though  cuftom 
has  rendered  them  familiar  to  us,  exprefs,  perhaps, 
the  mod  fubtile  and  refined  abftractions,  which  the 
mind  of  man  is  capable  of  forming.  Let  any  one 
confider  within  himfelf,  for  example,  what  he  means 

by 


LANGUAGES.  407 

by  the  word  three,  which  fignifies  neither  three  (hil- 
lings, nor  three  pence,  nor  three  men,  nor  three 
horfes,  but  three  in  general;  and  he  will  eafily  fa- 
tisfy  himfelf  that  a  word,  which  denotes  fo  very  me- 
taphyfical  an  abftraction,  could  not  be  either  a  very 
obvious  or  a  very  early  invention.  I  have  read  of  fome 
favage  nations,  whofe  language  was  capable  of  ex- 
preffing  no  more  than  the  three  firft  numeral  diftinc- 
tions.  But  whether  it  exprefTed  thofe  diftinctions  by- 
three  general  words,  or  by  variations  upon  the  nouns 
fubftantive,  denoting  the  things  numbered,  I  do 
not  remember  to  have  met  with  any  thing  which 
could  determine. 

As  all  the  fame  relations  which  fubfift  between 
fingle,  may  likewife  fubfift  between  numerous  ob- 
jects, it  is  evident  there  would  be  occafion  for  the 
fame  number  of  cafes  in  the  dual  and  in  the  plural, 
as  in  the  lingular  number.  Hence  the  intricacy  and 
complexnefs  of  the  declenfions  in  all  the  ancient 
languages.  In  the  Greek  there  are  five  cafes  in 
each  of  the  three  numbers,  confequently  fifteen 
in  all. 

As  nouns  adjective,  in  the  ancient  languages, 
varied  their  terminations  according  to  the  gender  of 
the  fubftantive  to  which  they  were  applied,  fo  did 
they  likewife,  according  to  the  cafe  and  the  number. 
Every  noun  adjective  in  the  Greek  language,  there- 
fore, having  three  genders,  and  three  numbers,  and 
five  cafes  in  each  number,  may  be  confidered  as 
having  five  and  forty  different  variations.  The  firft 
formers  of  language  feem  to  have  varied  the  termi- 
nation of  the  adjective,  according  to  the  cafe  and 
the  number  of  the  fubftantive,  for  the  fame  reafon 
D  d  4  which 


408  FORMATION   OF 

which  made  them  vary  according  to  the  gender ;  the 
love  of  analogy,  and  of  a  certain  regularity  of  found. 
In  the  fignification  of  adjectives  there  is  neither  cafe 
nor  number,  and  the  meaning  of  fuch  words  is 
always  precifely  the  fame,  notwithstanding  all  the 
variety  of  termination  under  which  they  appear. 
Magnus  vir,  magni  viri,  magnorum  virorum  j  a  great 
man,  of  a  great  man,  of  great  men  \  in  all  thefe  ex- 
preffions  the  words  magnus,  magni,  magnorum,  as  well 
as  the  word  great,  have  precifely  one  and  the  fame 
fignification,  though  the  fubftantives  to  which  they 
are  applied  have  not.  The  difference  of  termina- 
tion in  the  noun  adjective  is  accompanied  with  no 
fort  of  difference  in  the  meaning.  An  adjective 
denotes  the  qualification  of  a  noun  fubftantive.  But 
the  different  relations  in  which  that  noun  fubftantive 
may  occafionally  ftand,  can  make  no  fort  of  diffe- 
rence upon  its  qualification. 

If  the  declenfions  of  the  ancient  languages  are 
fo  very  complex,  their  conjugations  are  infinitely 
more  fo.  And  the  complexnefs  of  the  one  is  founded 
upon  the  fame  principle  with  that  of  the  other,  the 
difficulty  of  forming,  in  the  beginnings  of  language, 
abftract  and  general  terms. 

Verbs  mufl  neceffarily  have  been  coeval  with  the 
very  firft  attempts  towards  the  formation  of  lan- 
guage. No  affirmation  can  be  exprefled  without  the 
affi fiance  of  fome  verb.  We  never  fpeak  but  in  or- 
der to  exprefe  our  opinion  that  fomething  either  is  or 
is  not.  But  the  word  denoting  this  event,  or  this 
matter  of  fact,  which  is  the  fubject  of  our  affirma- 
tion, muft  always  be  a  verb. 

^  Imperfonal 


LANGUAGES.  409 

Imperfonal  verbs,  which  exprefs  in  one  word  a 
complete  event,  which  preferve  in  the  expreflion  that 
perfect  fimplicity  and  unity,  which  there  always  is  in 
the  object  and  in  the  idea,  and  which  fuppofe  no  ab~ 
fraction,  or  metaphyfical  divifion  of  the  event  into 
its  feveral  conftituent  members  of  fubject  and  attri- 
bute, would,  in   all  probability,   be   the  fpecies  of 
verbs  firft  invented.     The  verbs  pluit,  it  rains  ;  nin- 
gity  it  fnows ;    tonaty  it  thunders  ♦,  lucet,   it  is  day  ♦, 
turbatur,  there  is  a  confufiony  &c.  each  of  them  ex- 
prefs a  complete  affirmation,  the  whole  of  an  event, 
with  that  perfect  fimplicity   and  unity  with  which 
the  mind  conceives  it  in  nature.  On  the  contrary,  the 
phrafes,  Alexander  ambulat,  Alexander  walks  *,  Petrus 
fedety  Peter  fits,  divide  the  event,  as  it  were,  into  two 
parts,  the  perfon  or  fubject,   and  the  attribute,  or 
matter  of  fad,  affirmed  of  that  fubject.     But  in  na- 
ture, the  idea  or  conception  of  Alexander  walking,  is 
as  perfectly  and  completely  one  fingle  conception,  as 
that  of  Alexander   not  walking.     The  divifion  of 
this  event,  therefore,  into  two  parts,  is  altogether  ar- 
tificial, and  is  the  effect  of  the  imperfection  of  lan- 
guage, which,  upon  this,  as  upon  many  other  occa- 
fions,  fupplies,  by  a  number  of  words,  the  want  of 
one,  which  could  exprefs  at  once  the  whole  matter  of 
fact  that    was  meant  to  be   affirmed.     Every  body 
mufl  obferve  how  much  more  fimplicity  there  is  in 
the  natural  expreflion,  plait,  than  in  the  more  artifi- 
cial  expreflions,    imber  decidit,   the  rain  falls ;  or, 
tempeftas  eft  pluvia,  the  weather  is  rainy.     In  thefe 
two   laft  expreflions,   the  fimple  event,  or  matter  of 
fact,  is  artificially  fplit  and  divided,  in  the  one,  into 
two  •,  in  the  other,  into  three  parts.     In  each  of  them 
it  is  exprefifed  by  a  fort  of  grammatical  circumlocu- 
tion, 


4io  FORMATION  OF 

tion,  of  which  the  fignifkancy  is  founded  upon  a 
certain  metaphyfical  analyfis  of  the  component  parts 
of  the  idea  exprefTed  by  the  word  phut.  The  firft 
verbs,  therefore,  perhaps  even  the  firft  words,  made 
ufe  of  in  the  beginnings  of  language,  would  in  all 
probability  be  fuch  imperfonal  verbs.  It  is  obferved 
accordingly,  I  am  told,  by  the  Hebrew  Gramma- 
rians, that  the  radical  words  of  their  language,  from 
which  all  the  others  are  derived,  are  ail  of  them 
verbs,  and  imperfonal  verbs. 

It  is  eafy  to  conceive  how,  in  the  progrefs  of  lan- 
guage, thofe  imperfonal  verbs  mould  become  perfo- 
nal.  Let  us  iuppofe,  for  example,  that  the  word 
venit  y  it  comes,  was  originally  an  imperfonal  verb, 
and  that  it  denoted,  not  the  coming  of  fomething  in 
general,  as  at  prefent,  but  the  coming  of  a  particular 
object,  fuch  as  the  Lion.  The  firft  favage  inventors 
of  language,  we  mail  Iuppofe,  when  they  obferved 
the  approach  of  this  terrible  animal,  were  accuftom- 
ed  to  cry  out  to  one  another,  venit,  that  is,  the  lion 
comes ;  and  that  this  word  thus  exprefTed  a  complete 
event,  without  the  afliftance  of  any  other.  After- 
wards, when,  on  the  further  progrefs  of  language, 
they  had  begun  to  give  names  to  particular  fub- 
ftances,  whenever  they  obferved  the  approach  of 
any  other  terrible  object,  they  would  naturally  join 
the  name  of  that  object  to  the  word  venit,  and  cry 
out,  venit  urfus,  venit  lupus.  By  degrees  the  word 
venit  would  thus  come  to  fignify  the  coming  of  any 
terrible  object,-  and  not  merely  the  coming  of  the 
lion.  It  would  now  therefore,  exprefs,  not  the  com- 
ing of  a  particular  object,  but  the  coming  of  an  ob- 
ject of  a  particular  kind.  Having  become  more  ge- 
neral in  its  fignificatiott,  it  could  no  longer  reprefent 

any 


LANGUAGES.  411 

any  particular  diftincl:  event  by  itfelf,  and  without 
the  afliftance  of  a  noun  fubftantive,  which  might 
ferve  to  afcertain  and  determine  its  fignification.  It 
would  now,  therefore,  have  become  a  perfonal,  in- 
ftead  of  an  imperfonal  verb.  We  may  eafily  con- 
ceive how,  in  the  further  progrefs  of  fociety,  it  might 
ftill.grow  more  general  in  its  fignification,  and  come 
to  fignify,  as  at  prefent,  the  approach  of  any  thing 
whatever,  whether  good,  bad,  or  indifferent. 

It  is  probably  in  fome  fuch  manner  as  this,  that 
almoft  all  verbs  have  become  perfonal,  and  that 
mankind  have  learned  by  degrees  to  fplit  and  divide 
almoft  every  event  into  a  great  number  of  metaphy- 
fical  parts,  expreffed  by  the  different  parts  of  fpeech, 
varioufly  combined  in  the  different  members  of  every 
phrafe  and  fentence.  *  The  fame  fort  of  progrefs 
feems  to  have  been  made  in  the  art  of  fpeaking  as 
in  the  art  of  writing.  When  mankind  firft  began  to 
attempt  to  exprefs  their  ideas  by  writing,  every  cha- 
racter reprefented  a  whole  word.  But  the  number 
of  words  being  almoft  infinite,  the  memory  found 
itfelf  quite  loaded  and  oppreffed  by  the  multitude  of 

characters 

*  As  the  far  greater  part  of  Verbs  exprefs,  at  prefent,  not  an 
event,  but  the  attribute  of  an  event,  and,  confequently,  require 
a  fubjeft,  or  nominative  cafe,  to  complete  their  fignification, 
fome  grammarians,  not  having  attended  to  this  progrefs  of  nature, 
and  being  defirous  to  make  their  common  rules  quite  univerfal, 
and  without  any  exception,  have  infilled  that  all  verbs  required  a 
nominative,  either  exprefled  or  underftood  ;  and  have,  accord- 
ingly put  themfelves  to  the  torture  to  find  fome  awkward  nomi- 
natives to  thofe  few  verbs,  which  flill  exprefling  a  complete  event, 
olainly  admit  of  none-  Pluit,  for  example,  according  to  Sanftius* 
1  means  flwvia  plait,  in  Englim,  the  rain  rains,  See  Sanclii  Mi- 
nerva, 1.  5.  c.  rf 


4i2  FORMATION   OF 

characters  which  it  was  obliged  to  retain.  Neceffity 
taught  them,  therefore,  to  divide  words  into  their 
elements,  and  to  invent  characters  which  mould  re- 
prefent,  not  the  words  themfelves,  but  the  elements 
of  which  they  were  compofed.  In  confequence  of 
this  invention,  every  particular  word  came  to  be  re- 
prefented,  not  by  one  character,  but  by  a  multitude 
of  characters  •,  and  the  expreflion  of  it  in  writing  be- 
came much  more  intricate  and  complex  than  before. 
But  though  particular  words  were  thus  reprefented 
by  a  greater  number  of  characters,  the  whole  lan- 
guage was  exprefied  by  a  much  fmaller,  and  about 
four  and  twenty  letters  were  found  capable  of  fup- 
plying  the  place  of  that  immenfe  multitude  of  cha- 
racters, which  were  requifite  before.  In  the  fame 
manner,  in  the  beginnings  of  language,  men  feem  to 
have  attempted  to  exprefs  every  particular  event, 
which  they  had  occafion  to  take  notice  of,  by  a  par- 
ticular word,  which  exprefied  at  once  the  whole  of 
that  event.  But  as  the  number  of  words  muft,  in 
this  cafe,  have  become  really  infinite,  in  confequence 
of  the  really  infinite  variety  of  events,  men  found 
themfelves  partly  compelled  by  neceffity,  and  partly 
conducted  by  nature,  to  divide  every  event  into 
what  may  be  called  its  metaphyfical  elements,  and  to 
inftitute  words,  which  mould  denote  not  fo  much 
the  events,  as  the  elements  of  which  they  were  com- 
pofed. The  expreflion  of  every  particular  event, 
became  in  this  manner  more  intricate  and  complex, 
but  the  whole  fyftem  of  the  language  became  more 
coherent,  more  connected,  more  eafily  retained  and 
comprehended. 

When  verbs,  from  being  originally  imperfonal  had 
thus,  by  the  divifioo  of  the  event  into  its  metaphy- 
fical 


LANGUAGES.  4iS 

fical  elements,  become  perfonal,  it  is  natural  to  fup~ 
pofe  that  they  would  firft  be  made  ufe  of  in  the  third 
perfon  lingular.  No  verb  is  ever  uled  imperfonally 
in  our  language,  nor,  fo  far  as  I  know,  in  any  other 
modern  tongue.  But  in  the  ancient  languages, 
whenever  any  verb  is  ufed  imperfonally,  it  is  always 
in  the  third  perfon  fingular.  The  termination  of 
thofe  verbs,  which  are  ftiil  always  imperfonal,  is 
conftantly  the  fame  with  that  of  the  third  perfon  fin- 
gular of  perfonal  verbs.  The  confideration  of  thefe 
circumftances,  joined  to  the  naturalnefs  of  the  thing 
itfelf,  may  ferve  to  convince  us  that  verbs  firfc  be- 
came perfonal  in  what  is  now  called  the  third  perfon 
fingular. 

But  as  the  event,  or  matter  of  fact,  which  is  ex- 
preffed  by  a  verb,  may  be  affirmed  either  of  the  per- 
fon who  fpeaks,  or  of  the  perfon  who  is  fpoken  to, 
as  well  as  of  fome  third  perfon  or  object,  it  became 
neceffary  to  fall  upon  fome  method  of  exprefTing 
thefe  two  peculiar  relations  of  the  event.  In  the 
Englifh  language  this  is  commonly  done,  by  pre- 
fixing, what  are  called  the  perfonal  pronouns,  to  the 
general  word  which  expreffes  the  event  affirmed. 
I  came y  you  came^  he  or  it  came\  in  thefe  phrafes  the 
event  of  having  come  is,  in  the  firft,  affirmed  of  the 
fpeaker ;  in  the  fecond,  of  the  perfon  fpoken  to  j  in 
the  third,  of  fome  other  perfon,  or  object.  The  firft 
formers  of  language,  it  may  be  imagined,  might  have 
done  the  fame  thing,  and  prefixing  in  the  fame  man- 
ner the  two  firft  perfonal  pronouns,  to  the  fame  ter- 
mination of  the  verb,  which  exprefTed  the  third  per- 
fon fingular,  might  have  faid,  ego  venit,  tu  venit% 
as  well  as  ilk  or  illudvenit,     And  I  make  no  doubt 

but 


4H  FORMATION  OF 

but  they  would  have  done  fo,  if  at  the  time  when 
they  had  firft  occafion  to  txprefs  thefe  relations  of  the 
verb,  there  had  been  any  fuch  words  as  either  ego  or 
tu  in  their  language.  But  in  this  early  period  of  the 
language,  which  we  are  now  endeavouring  to  de- 
fcribe,  it  is  extremely  improbable  that  any  fuch 
words  would  be  known.  Though  cuftom  has  now 
rendered  them  familiar  to  us,  they,  both  of  them, 
exprefs  ideas  extremely  metaphyseal  and  abftract. 
The  word  /,  for  example,  is  a  word  of  a  very  parti- 
cular fpecies.  Whatever  fpeaks  may  denote  itfelf  by 
this  peribnal  pronoun.  The  word  I,  therefore,  is  a 
general  word,  capable  of  being  predicated,  as  the  lo- 
gicians fay,  of  an  infinite  variety  of  objects.  It  dif- 
fers, however,  from  all  other  general  words  in  this 
refpect ;  that  the  obje&s  of  which  it  may  be  predi- 
cated, do  not  form  any  particular  fpecies  of  objects 
diftinguiQied  from  all  others.  The  word  /,  does 
not,  like  the  word  man,  denote  a  particular  clafs  of 
objects,  feparated  from  all  others  by  peculiar  qua- 
lities of  their  own.  It  is  far  from  being  the  name  of 
a  fpecies,  but,  on  the  contrary,  whenever  it  is  made 
ufe  of,  it  always  denotes  a  precife  individual,  the  par- 
ticular perfon  who  then  fpeaks.  It  may  be  faid  to 
be,  at  once,  both  what  the  logicians  call,  a  Angular, 
and  what  they  call,  a  common  term  ;  and  to  join  in 
its  fignification  the  feemingly  oppofite  qualities  of  the 
moft  precife  individuality,  and  the  moil  extenfive 
generalization.  This  word,  therefore,  exprefling  fo 
very  abftract  and  metaphyfical  an  idea,  would  not 
eafily  or  readily  occur  to  the  firft  formers  of  language. 
What  are  called  the  perfonal  pronouns,  it  may  be 
obferved,  are  among  the  laft  words  of  which  chil- 
dren learn  to  make  life*     A  child,  fpeaking  of  itfelf, 

fays, 


LANGUAGES.  415 

fays,  Billy  walks,  Billy  fits,  inftead  of  /  walk,  I  fit. 
As  in  the  beginnings  of  language,  therefore,  man- 
kind feem  to  have  evaded  the  invention  of  at  leaft  the 
more  abftract  propofitions,  and  to  have  exprefTed  the 
fame  relations   which  thefe  now  ftand  for,  by  vary- 
ing the  termination  of  the  co-relative  term,  fo  they 
likewife  would  naturally  attempt  to  evade  the  necef- 
lity  of  inventing  thofe  more  abftracl  pronouns  by  va- 
rying the  termination  of  the  verb,  according  as  the 
event  which  it  exprefTed  was  intended  to  be  affirmed 
of  the  firft,  fecond,  or  third  perfon.     This  feems, 
accordingly,  to  be  the  univerfal  practice  of  all  the 
ancient  languages.     In  Latin,  veni,  venifti,  venit,  fuf- 
flciently  denote,  without  any  other  addition,  the  dif- 
ferent events  expreffed   by   the  Englifh  phrafes,  / 
came,  you  came,  he',  or -it  came.     The   verb  would, 
for  the  fame  reafon,  vary  its  termination,  according 
as  the  event  was  intended  to  be  affirmed  of  the  firft, 
fecond,  or  third  perfons  plural  •,  and  what  is  expreffed 
by  the  Englifh  phrafes,  we  came,  ye  came,  they  came, 
would  be  denoted  by  the  Latin  words,  venimus,  ve- 
nifiis,    venerunt.     Thofe    primitive   languages,    too, 
which,  upon  account  of  the  difficulty  of  inventing 
numeral  names,  had  introduced  a  dual,  as  well  as  a 
plural  number,  into  the  declenfion  of  their  nouns 
iubftantive,  would  probably,  from  analogy,  do  the 
fame  thing  in  the  conjugations  of  their  verbs.     And 
thus  in   all   thofe  original  languages,  we  might  ex- 
pect to  find,  at  leaft  fix,  if  not  eight  or  nine  varia- 
tions, in  the  termination  of  every  verb,  according 
as  the  event  which  it  denoted  was  meant  to  be  affirm- 
ed  of  the  firft,    fecond,   or  third   perfons  fingular, 
dual,  or  plural.     Thefe   variations  again  being  re- 
peated,   along    with   others,    through    all    its  dif- 
ferent  tenfes,  modes    and    voices,  mud  neceffarily 

have 


4i6  FORMATION   OF 

have  rendered  their  conjugations  (till  more  intricate 
and  complex  than  their  declenfions. 

Language  would  probably  have  continued  upon 
this  footing  in  all  countries,  nor  would  ever  have 
grown  more  fimple  in  its  declenfions  and  conjugati- 
ons, had  it  not  become  more  complex  in  its  co.mp.o- 
fition,  in  conlequence  of  the  mixture  of  feveral  lan- 
guages with  one  another,  occafioned  by  the  mixture 
of  different  nations.  As  long  as  any  language  was 
fpoke  by  thofe  only  who  learned  it  in  their  infancy, 
the  intricacy  of  its  declenfions  and  conjugations 
could  occafion  no  great  embarrailment.  The  far 
greater  part  of  thofe  who  had  occafion  to  fpeak  ir5 
had  acquired  it  at  h  very  early  a  period  of  their 
lives,  fo  infenfibly  and  by  fuch  flow  degrees,  that 
they  were  fcarce  ever  fenfible  of  the  difficulty.  Blu 
when  two  nations  came  to  be  mixed  with  one  ano- 
ther, either  by  conqueft  or  migration,  the  caie 
would  be  very  different.  Each  nation,  in  order  to 
make  itfelf  intelligible  to  thofe  with  whom  it  was 
under  the  neceffity  of  converfing,  would  be  obligee 
to  learn  the  language  of  the  other.  The  greater  parv 
of  individuals  too,  learning  the  new  language,  not 
by  art,  or  by  remounting  to  its  rudiments  and  firfc 
principles,  but  by  rote,  and  by  what  they  commonly 
heard  in  converfation,  would  be  extremely  perplexed 
by  the  intricacy  of  its  declenfions  and  conjugations 
They  would  endeavour,  therefore,  to  fupply  their 
ignorance  of  thefe,  by  whatever  fhift  the  language 
could  afford  them.  Their  ignorance  of  the  declenfi- 
ons they  would  naturally  fupply  by  the  ufe  of  pre- 
pofitions ;  and  a  Lombard,  who  was  attempting  to 
fpeak  Latin,  and  wanted  to  exprefs  that  fuch  a  per- 
fon  was  a  citizen  orRome,  or  a  benefactor  to  Rome, 

if 


Languages.  417 

if  he  happened  not  to  be  acquainted  with  the  geni- 
tive and  dative  cafes  of  the  word  Roma,  would  natu- 
rally exprefs  himfelf  by  prefixing  the  prepofitions  ad 
and  de  to  the  nominative ;  and,  inftead  of  Roma, 
would  fay,  ad  Roma,  and  de  Roma.  Al  Roma  and 
di  Roma,  accordingly,  is  the  manner  in  which  the 
prefent  Italians,  the  defcendants  of  the  ancient  Lom- 
bards and  Romans,  exprefs  this  and  all  other  fimilar 
relations.  And  in  this  manner  prepofitions  feem  to 
have  been  introduced,  in  the  room  of  the  ancient 
declenfions.  The  fame  alteration  has,  I  am  informed, 
been  produced  upon  the  Greek  language,  fince  the 
taking  of  Conftantinople  by  the  Turks.  The  words 
are,  in  a  great  meafure,  the  fame  as  before-,  buc 
the  grammar  is  entirely  loft,  prepofitions  having 
come  in  the  place  of  the  old  declenfions.  This 
change  is  undoubtedly  a  fimplification  of  the  langu- 
age, in  point  of  rudiments  and  principle.  It  intro- 
duces, inftead  of  a  great  variety  of  declenfions,  one 
univerfal  declenfion,  which  is  the  fame  in  every 
word,  of  whatever  gender,  number,  or  termination. 

A  fimilar  expedient  enables  men,  in  the  fituation 
above  mentioned,  to  get  rid  of  almoft  the  whole  in- 
tricacy of  their  conjugations.  There  is  in  every 
language  a  verb,  known  by  the  name  of  the  fubftan- 
tive  verb ;  in  Latin,  fum  -,  in  Englifh,  /  am.  This 
verb  denotes  not  the  exiftence  of  any  particular 
event,  but  exiftence  in  general.  It  is,  upon  this 
account,  the  moft  abftract  and  metaphyseal  of  all 
verbs  •,  and,  confequently,  could  by  no  means  be  a 
a  word  of  early  invention.  When  it  came  to  be  in- 
vented, however,  as  it  had  all  the  tenfes  and  modes 
of  any  other  verb,  by  being  joined  with  the  paffive 
participle,  it  was  capable  of  fupplying  the  place  of 
E  e  chc 


4i8-  FORMATION    OF 

the  whole  paflive  voice,  and  of  rendering  this  part  of 
their  conjugations  as  fimple  and  uniform,  as  the  ufe 
of  prepofitions  had  rendered  their  declenfions.  A 
Lombard,  who  wanted  to  fay,  I  am  loved,  but  could 
not  recoiled  the  word  amor,  naturally  endeavoured 
to  fupply  his  ignorance,  by  faying,  ego  fum  amatus. 
Jo  fono  amato,  is  at  this  day  the  Italian  expreflion* 
which  correfponds  to  the  Englifh.  phrafe  above  men- 
tioned. 

There  is  another  verb,  which,  in  the  fame  man- 
ner, runs  through  all  languages,  and  which  is  diftin- 
guifhed  by  the  name  of  the  poffeflive  verb  ;  in  Latin, 
habeo\  in  Englifh,  I  have.  This  verb,  likewife,  de- 
notes an  event  of  an  extremely  abftract  and  metaphy- 
fical  nature,  and,  confequently,  cannot  be  fuppofed 
to  have  been  a  word  of  the  earlieft  invention.  When 
it  came  to  be  invented,  however,  by  being  applied 
to  the  paflive  participle,  it  was  capable  of  fupplying 
a  great  part  of  the  active  voice,  as  the  fubftantive 
verb  had  fupplied  the  whole  of  the  paflive.  A  Lom- 
bard, who  wanted  to  fay,  I  had  loved,  but  could  not 
recollecl  the  word  amaveram,  would  endeavour  to 
fupply  the  place  of  it,  by  faying  either  ego  babebam 
amafum,  or  ego  habui  amatum.  lo  avevd  amato,  or 
Io  ebbi  amato,  are  the  correfpondent  Italian  exprefli- 
ons  at  this  day.  And  thus  upon  the  intermixture  of 
different  nations  with  one  another,  the  conjugations, 
by  means  of  different  auxiliary  verbs,  were  made 
to  approach  towards  the  fimplicity  and  uniformity  of 
the  declenfions. 

In  general  it  may  be  laid  down  for  a  maxim,  that 
the  more  fimple  any>Janguage  is  in  its  composition, 

the 


LANGUAGES.  .  4i9 

■the  more  complex  it  mud  be  in  its  declenfions  and 
conjugations  ♦,  and,  on  the  contrary,  t^he  more  Am- 
ple it  is  in  its  declenfions  and  conjugations,  the  more 
complex  it  muft  be  in  its  composition.  3 

The  Greek  teems,  to  be,  in  a  great  meafure,  a 
fimple,  uncompounded  language,  formed  from  the 
primitive  jargon  of  thofe  wandering  favages,  the  an- 
cient Hellenians  and  Pelafgians,  from  whom  the 
Greek  nation  is  faid  to  have  been  descended.  All 
the  words  in  the  Greek  language  are  derived  from 
about  three  hundred  primitives,  a  plain  evidence 
chat  the  Greeks  farmed  their  language  ajmoft  entirely 
among  themfelves,  and  that  when  they, had  occafion 
for  a  new  word,  they  were  not  ac.cuftomed,  as  we 
.are,  to  borrow  it  from  fome  foreign- language*  but  to 
form  it,  either  by  compofition  or  derivation  from 
fome  other  word  or  words,  in  their  owa.  The  de- 
clenfions and  conjugations,  therefore,  TDf  the  Greek 
are  much  more  complex  than  thofe  of  any  other  Eu~ 
ropean  language  with  which  I  am  acquainted. 

The  Latin  is  a  compofition  of  the  Greek  and  of 
the  ancient  Tufcan  languages.  Its  declenfions  and 
conjugations  accordingly  are  much  lefs  complex  than 
thofe  of  the  Greek  :  it  has  dropt  the  dual  number  in 
both.  Its  verbs  have  no  optative  mood  diflinguifhed 
by  any  peculiar  termination.  They  have  but  one 
future.  They  have  no  aorift  diftindt  from  the  pre- 
terit-perfect ;  they  have  no  middle  voice  -,  and  even 
many  of  ..heir  tenfes  in  the  pafFive  voice  are  eked  out, 
in  the  fame  manner  as  in  the  modern  languages,  by 
the  help  of  the  fubftantive  verb  joined  to  the  paffive 
participle.  In  both  the  voices,  the  number  of  in- 
E  e  2  finitives. 


42o  FORMATION    OF 

finitives  and  participles  is  much  fmaller  in  the  Latin 
than  in  the  Greek. 

The  French  and  Italian  languages  are  each  of 
them  compounded,  the  one  of  the  Latin,  and  the 
language  of  the  ancient  Franks,  the  other  of  the  fame 
Latin  and  the  language  of  the  ancient  Lombards. 
As  they  are  both  of  them,  therefore,  more  complex 
in.  their  compofition  than  the  Latin,  fo  are  they  like- 
wife  more  fimple  in  their  declenfions  and  conjugati- 
ons. With  regard  to  their  declenfions,  they  have 
both  of  them  loft  their  cafes  altogether ;  and  with 
regard  ,to  their  conjugations,  they  have  both  of  them 
loft  the  whole  of  the  paffive,  and  fome  part  of  the 
active  voices  of  their  verbs.  The  want  of  the  paffive 
voice  they  fupply  entirely  by  the  fubftantive  verb 
joined  to  the'  paffive  participle  j  and  they  make  out 
part  of  the  active,  in  the  fame  manner,  by  the  help 
of  the  pofleflive  verb  and  the  fame  paffive  partici- 
ple. 

The  Englifh  is  compounded  of  the  French  and 
the  ancient  Saxon  languages.  The  French  was  in- 
troduced into  Britain  by  the  Norman  conqueft,  and 
continued,  till  the  time  of  Edward  III.  to  be  the 
fole  language  of  the  law  as  well  as  the  principal 
language  of->the  court.  The  Englifh,  which  came 
to  be  fpoken  afterwards,  and  which  continues  to  be 
jpoken  now,  is  a  mixture  of  the  ancient  Saxon  and 
this  Norm2n  French.  As  the  Englifh  language, 
therefore,  is  more  complex  in  its  compofition  than 
either  the  French  or  the  Italian,  fo  is  it  likewile  more 
fimple  in  its  declenfions  and  conjugations.  Thofe 
two  languages  retain,  at  leaft,  a  part  of  the  diftinc- 
tion  of  genders,  a?td  their  adjectives  vary  their  ter- 
mination 


LANGUAGES.  4*1 

mination  according  as  they  are  applied  to  a  mafcu- 
line  or  to  a  feminine  fubftantive.  But  there  is  no 
fuch  diftinction  in  the  Englifh  language,  whofe  ad- 
jectives admit  of  no  variety  of  termination.  The 
French  and  Italian  languages  have,  both  of  them, 
the  remains  of  a  conjugation,  and  all  thofe  tenfes  of 
the  active  voice,  which  cannot  be  exprefled  by  the 
poffeflive  verb  joined  to  the  paflive  participle,  as  well 
as  many  of  thofe  which  can,  are,  in  thofe  languages, 
marked  by  varying  the  termination  of  the  principal 
verb.  But  almoft  all  thofe  other  tenfes  are  in  the 
Englifh  eked  out  by  other  auxiliary  verbs,  fo  that 
there  is  in  this  language  fcarce  even  the  remains  of  a 
conjugation.  I  love,  I  loved,  loving,  are  all  the  va- 
rieties of  termination  which  the  greater  part  of  Eng- 
lifh verbs  admit  of.  All  the  different  modifications 
of  meaning,  which  cannot  be  expreffed  by  any  of 
thofe  three  terminations,  mufl  be  made  out  by  differ- 
ent auxiliary  verbs  joined  to  fome  one  or  other  of 
them.  Two  auxiliary  verbs  fupply  all  the  deficien- 
cies of  the  French  and  Italian  conjugations;  it  re- 
quires more  than  half  a  dozen  to  fupply  thofe  of  the 
Englifh,  which  befides  the  fubftantive  and  pofTef- 
five  verbs,  makes  ufe  of  do,  did-,  will,  would-,  Jhall? 
fhould;   can,  could-,  may,   might. 

It  is  in  this  manner  that  language  becomes  more 
fimple  in  its  rudiments  and  principles,  juft  in  pro- 
portion as  it  grows  more  complex  in  its  compofition, 
and  the  fame  thing  has  happened  in  it,  which  com*- 
monly  happens  with  regard  to  mechanical  engines. 
All  machines  are  generally,  when  firft  invented,  ex- 
tremely complex  in  their  principles,  and  there  is  of- 
;en  a  particular  principle  of  motion  for  every  parti- 
cular 


422  FORMATION   OF 

cular  movement  which,  it  is  intended,  they  ihould 
perform.  Succeeding  improvers  obferve,  that  one 
principle  may  be  To  applied  as  to  produce  feveral  of 
thofe  movements,  and  thus  the  machine  becomes 
gradually  more  and  more  fimple,  and  produces  its 
effects  with  fewer  wheels,  and  fewer  principles  of 
motion.  In  language,  in  the  fame  manner,  every 
cafe  of  every  noun,  and  every  tenfe  of  every  verb, 
was  originally  exprefTed  by  a  particular  diflind  word, 
which  ferved  for  this  purpofe  and  for  no  other.  But 
fucceeding  obfervation  difcovered  that  one  kt  of 
words  was  capable  of  fupplying  the  place  of  ail  that 
infinite  number,  and  that  four  or  five  prepofitions, 
and  half  a  dozen  auxiliary  verbs,  were  capable  of 
anfwering  the  end  of  all  the  declenfions,  and  of  all 
the  conjugations  in  the  ancient  languages. 

But  this  fimplification  of  languages,  though  it 
arifes,  perhaps,  from  fimilar  caufes,  has  by  no  means 
fimilar  effects  with  the  correfpondent  fimplification  of 
machines.  The  fimplification  of  machines  renders 
them  more  and  more  perfect,  but  this  fimplification 
of  the  rudiments  of  languages  renders  them  more  and 
more  imperfect  and  lefs  proper  for  many  of  the  pur- 
pofes  of  language  :  and  this  for  the  following  reafans. 

Firft  of  all,  languages  are  by  this  fimplification 
rendered  more  prolix,  feveral  words  having  become 
necefiary  to  exprefs  what  could  have  been  exprefifed 
by  a  fingle  word  before.  Thus  the  words,  Dei  and, 
Deo,  in  the  Latin,  diffidently  fhow,  without  any  ad- 
dition, what  relation,  the  object  fignified  is  under- 
wood to  (land  in  to  the  objects  exprefTed  by  the 
other  words  in  the  fentence.     But  to  exprefs  the  fame 

relation 


LANGUAGES.  423 

relation  inEnglifh,and  in  all  other  modern  languages, 
we  muft  make  ufe  of,  at  lead,  two  words,  and  fay, 
of  God,  to  God.  So  far  as  the  declenfions  are  con- 
cerned, therefore,  the  modern  languages  are  much 
more  prolix  than  the  ancient.  The  difference  is  (till 
greater  with  regard  to  the  conjugations.  What  a 
Roman  expreffed  by  the  fmgle  word,  amavijfem,  an 
Englilhman  is  obliged  to  exprefs  by  four  different 
words,  /  Jhould  have  loved.  It  is  unneceffary  to 
take  any  pains  to  fhow  how  much  this  prolixnefs 
muft  enervate  the  eloquence  of  all  modern  languages. 
How  much  the  beauty  of  any  expreffion  depends 
upon  its  concifenefs,  is  well  known  to  thofe  who 
have  any  experience  in  compofition. 

Secondly,  this  Amplification  of  the  principles  of 
languages  renders  them  lefs  agreeable  to  the  ear. 
The  variety  of  termination  in  the  Greek  and  Latin, 
occafioned  by  their  declenfions  and  conjugations, 
give  a  fweetnefs  to  their  language  altogether  un- 
known to  ours,  and  a  variety  unknown  to  any  other 
modern  language.  In  point  of  fweetnefs,  the  Ita- 
lian, perhaps,  may  furpafs  the  Latin,  and  almoft 
equal  the  Greek  ;  but  in  point  of  variety,  it  is  greatly 
inferior  to  both. 

Thirdly,  this  Amplification,  not  only  renders  the 
founds  of  our  language  lefs  agreeable  to  the  ear, 
but  it  alfo  reftrains  us  from  difpofing  fuch  founds 
as  we  have,  in  the  manner  that  might  be  moil:  agree 
able.  It  ties  down  many  words  to  a  particular  fitua- 
tion,  though  they  might  often  be  placed  in  another 
with  much  more  beauty.  In  the  Greek  and  Latin, 
though  the  adjective  and  fubftantive  were  feparated 

from 


424        Formation  op 

from  one  another,  the  correfpondence  of  their  termi- 
nations dill  fhowed  their  mutual  reference,  and  the 
feparation  did  not  neceflarily  occafion  any  fort  of 
confufion.     Thus  in  the  firft  line  of  Virgil  : 

Tityre  tu  patulce recubans  fub  tegmine  fagi. 

We  eafily  fee  that  tu  refers  to  recubans,  and  patula 
to  fagi ;  though  the  related  words  are  feparated 
from  one  another  by  the  intervention  of  feveral 
others  :  becaufe  the  terminations,  (bowing  the  cor- 
refpondence of  their  cafes,  determine  their  mutual 
reference.  But  if  we  were  ro  tranflate  this  line  liter- 
ally into  Englifh,  and  fay,  Tityrus,  thou  of  fpreading 
reclining  under  the  jhade  beech,  CEdipus  himfelf  could 
not  make  lenfe  of  it ;  becaufe  there  is  here  no  dif- 
ference of  termination,  to  determine  which  fub- 
ftantive  each  adjedtive  belongs  to.  It  is  the  fame 
cafe  with  regard  to  verbs.  In  Latin  the  verb  may 
often  be  placed,  without  an  inconveniency  or  ambi- 
guity, in  any  part  of  the  fentence.  But  in  Engliili 
its  place  is  almoft  always  precifely  determined.  It 
muft  follow  the  fubjective  and  precede  the  objective 
member  of  the  phrafe  in  almoft  all  cafes.  Thus  in 
Latin  whether  you  fay,  Joannem  verberavit  Robertus, 
or  Robertus  verberavit  Joannem,  the  meaning  is  pre- 
cifely the  fame,  and  the  termination  fixes  John  to  be 
the  fufferer  in  both  cafes.  But  in  Englifh  John  beat 
Robert,  and  Robert  beat  John,  have  by  no  means  the 
fame  figmfication.  The  place  therefore  of  the  three 
principal  members  of  the  phrafe  is  in  the  Englifh, 
and  for  the  fame  reafon  in  the  French  and  Italian 
languages  almoft  always  precifely  determined ; 
whereas  in  the  ancient  languages  a  greater  latitude  is 

allowed, 


LANGUAGES..  *?| 

allowed,  and  the  place  of  thofe  members  is  often,  in 
a  great  meafure,  indifferent.  We  muft  have  rccourfe 
to  Horace,  in  order  to  interpret  fome  parts  of  Mil- 
ton's literal  tranflatidn ; 

Who  now  enjoys  thee  credulous'  all  gold, 
Who  always  vacant,  always  amiable 
Hopes  thee-,  of  flattering  gales 
Unmindful 

are  verfes  which  it  is  impoflible  to  interpret  by  any 
rules  of  our  language.  There  are  no  rules  in  our 
language,  by  which  any  man  could  difcover,  that, 
in  the  firft  line,  credulous  referred  to  who,  and  not  to 
thee;  or,  that  all  gold  referred  to  any  thing;  or,  that 
in  the  fourth  line,  unmindful,  referred  to  who,  in  the 
fecond,  and  not  to  thee  in  the  third  ;  or,  on  the  con- 
trary, that,  in  the  fecond  line  always  vacant,  always- 
amiable,  referred  to  thee  in  the  third,  and  not  to  who 
in  the  fame  line  with  it.  In  the  Latin,  indeed,  all 
this  is  abundantly  plain. 

§)ui  nunc  te  fruit ttr  credulus  awed, 
Qui  femper  vacuam,  femfer  amabikm 
Sperat  te  \  nefcius  aurxfallacis. 

Becaufe  the  terminations  in  the  Latin  determine  the 
reference  of  each  adjective  to  its  proper  fubftantive, 
which  it  is  impoflible  for  any  thing  in  the  Englifh  to 
do.  How  much  this  power  of  tranfpofing  the  order 
of  their  words  muft  have  facilitated  the  compofitiorj 
of  the  ancients,  both  in  verfe  and  profe,  can  hardly 
be  imagined.  That  it  muft  greatly  have  facilitated 
their  verification  it  is  needlefs  to  obfervc ;   and  m 

F  f  profe,, 


+26  FORMATION,   &e. 

profe,  whatever  beauty  depends  upon  the  arrange- 
ment  and  conftruchon  of  the  feveral  members  of  the 
period,  muft  to  them  have  been  acquirable  with 
much  more  eafe,  and  to  much  greater  perfection* 
than  it  can  be  to  thofe  whofe  expreflion  is  conftant- 
ly  confined  by  the  prolixnefs,  conftraint  and  mono- 
tony of  modern  languages. 


FINIS. 


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PRINTED  IN  U..S.A. 

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The  theory  of  moral  sentiments,  or,  An 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


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